


No Exchanges or Refunds

by TCRegan



Series: No Exchanges or Refunds [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, M/M, Podfic Available, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 53
Words: 82,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrett Hawke, the boss of the Amell family in Kirkwall, is feared and respected by all. He had a nice, neat life until he met Anders. </p>
<p>Anders is a tired clinic doctor working just to scrape together a living. He had a very routine, comfortable life until he met Hawke.</p>
<p>Modern!Thedas AU with real world influences, and a couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theangrywarlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangrywarlock/gifts).



> Inspired by a prompt given by my girlfriend with some influence from an old kink meme prompt (diverges from the prompt quite a bit).
> 
> Warnings/Triggers abound and subject to change. Contains your typical 'Sopranos' episode level of violence/sexual content. Minor pairings not listed for potential spoilers.
> 
> As always, a huge thanks to my girlfriend/beta/other half of my soul for her support, patience, and understanding as I muddle through. Enjoy!

The water fizzled as the two white pills plunked into the glass. A calloused, scarred hand lifted it by the rim and swirled it slowly. Green eyes watched them disintegrate, and the glass was brought deliberately to pink lips hidden behind a well-trimmed black beard. The man sitting across the desk was nervous, sweat forming on his brow, watching the careful movements of this figurative giant. He let out a nervous squeak, muffled from the gag around his lips. 

"They tell me you've been leaking shipment schedules, Sabin."

Garrett Hawke finally looked up, eyes like emeralds sparkling in the low light of his desk lamp. Sabin shook his head vehemently, looking sick. He rocked a little, but his struggle against the ropes was in vain.

"Are you sure? Think real hard," Hawke said, taking another sip.

"Mmph!"

Hawke looked up, gesturing at a figure in the corner. A thin, white-haired man with curious, swirling tattoos stepped from out of the shadows and removed the gag.

"I didn't do it!" Sabin said at once.

Hawke sighed and leaned back in his chair, arm draped casually over the back of it. He lifted a booted foot onto the desk and crossed one ankle over the other. "Fenris."

The tattooed man moved in front of Sabin, backhanding him soundly across the face before stepping to the side again. Sabin sobbed, lip bleeding.

"I swear. It wasn't me. It was that Orlesian, Hubert!"

"Really?" Garrett asked, lifting the glass to inspect it a bit more closely. Merrill was getting good with her calming tablets. He didn't quite trust the quality of the store bought ones, and the fizz of these settled his stomach nicely. "Because I have witnesses that say otherwise. They put you," he said, pointing with the hand that held the glass, "at the scene talking to one of the Coterie boys. Doesn't ring a bell? No?"

Sabin sniffed. "I… I didn't. I swear it."

"Mm. You said. Why don't I believe you?"

"They're lying! It was Hubert!"

Hawke gestured to Fenris again, taking another sip. Fenris stepped in front of Sabin and Hawke's lip quirked in a smile as he heard his enforcer's fist connect with the man's jaw. He only wondered if Sabin could still talk after that. Or beg as the case would be. Putting his glass down, he stood and stretched, then unbuttoned the cuffs to his sleeves, rolling them up slowly.

"I will ask you one last time," Hawke said, moving to lean against the front of his desk, looking down at Sabin. "Did you leak my shipment schedule?"

"No, I didn't!"

Hawke reached back, picking up a manila folder, letting it fall open in his palm. He pulled out a glossy 8 x 10 black and white photo from the top of the small stack. Clucking his tongue, he turned it around so Sabin could see it, and watched as the man's eyes widened. Depicted in the photos taken was Sabin, looking nervous, exchanging envelopes with another man.

"Tomwise got a good angle, don't you think?" Hawke asked, tilting his head a little, looking at the photo.

Sabin went the palest shade of white, then green.

"So," Hawke said, replacing the photo in the folder and closing it. "Do you want to tell me the truth or should we keep playing this game?"

"I'm sorry! They paid me; I did it for the money! I got debts!"

Hawke tutted. "I know, I know. You're a degenerate gambler. See, you didn't owe me anything though. Those Starkhaven boys that you owe, they might've just broken your kneecaps and taken that as payment. I don't play that way here in Kirkwall. This is my city, Sabin, and you crossed the wrong person. Do you understand how serious that is?" he asked.

Sabin didn't answer. Hawke leaned in close.

"DO YOU!?"

Sabin jumped, and Hawke scowled in disgust as a wet patch formed on the front of the man's pants, the acrid sent of piss filling the office. With a sigh, Hawke dropped the folder on the desk and held his hand out. Fenris stepped forward again, taking out one of his pistols and handed it to him. He pulled a silencer from his pocket and gave that next. Sabin's eyes widened.

"Please, oh Maker, please, please don't kill me. I got a wife and kid!"

"She should've picked a better husband," Hawke said with a shrug, screwing the silencer on. "You know," he said, scratching at his beard, "I was going to let you go, but then you lied to me. I don't really like it when people lie to me, Sabin." He released the safety and racked the gun.

Sabin rocked violently in his chair, babbling.

"Shh," Hawke whispered. "You don't want to wake my mother."

He aimed and squeezed the trigger. Sabin fell silent, head lolling forward. Hawke sighed and handed the gun back to Fenris, moving back around his desk.

"Have Carver help you take out the trash," Hawke said, ignoring Fenris's quiet grunt of disapproval. "If he's asleep," he added, "you can drag him bodily from bed. He's supposed to be on call tonight. If he-"

His phone rang, cutting him off. Rolling his eyes, he pulled the cell from his pocket and checked the caller ID. With a hand wave to Fenris, he settled into his chair and slid his thumb across the screen to accept the call.

"Aveline. So good of you to contact me at-" he checked his Rolex "-one in the morning. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hawke, I'm in no mood. I caught a girl of yours working the Darktown circuit. I had to take her in."

Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose before reaching down to open his bottom drawer. He pulled out the bottle of Laphroaig and unscrewed the cap one handed.

"What girl?"

He picked up his glass and leaned back in his chair so he could toss the fizzy water into the potted plant behind him. Making a face at the glass, he poured himself a measure of the caramel colored liquid and tipped it back, wincing at the burn.

"What?" he asked, missing what she'd said.

"Your _whore_ ," Aveline spat. "She says she works for her."

"Oh right. So you arrested her? For what?"

"Public indecency."

Hawke laughed. "Oh come on. Minor charge. Can't you slap her with a warning?" He contemplated the bottle in front of him, and poured out another small measure before tossing it back, sighing in satisfaction as it warmed his stomach.

The door opened and Fenris returned, leading a disgruntled looking Carver. Fenris flicked open a silver knife to cut the ropes.

"Wait, hang on," Hawke said to both Aveline and Fenris before looking up at the latter. "Take the chair too. It's got piss all over it, come on now."

Fenris closed his knife, pocketing it, and tilted the chair back, Sabin's limp head rolling on his shoulders. Carver made a face and grabbed the legs of the chair and they carried it out of the room.

"I don't even want to know," came Aveline's tired, tinny voice. "Look, can you just get to the station and sign the release so I can avoid more paperwork? I'd rather not book her for the night."

"Why didn't you call Isabela?"

"She won't return my calls."

"Probably because you call her a whore," Hawke said flippantly. "Fine, fine. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"You know, Hawke, you owe me for this."

"Put it on my tab," he said, and ended the call, slipping his phone back in his pocket. 

He had one last staring contest with the bottle and lost again. Satisfied, he capped it and tucked it back into his bottom drawer before standing, rolling down his sleeves, and grabbing his long black coat on his way out of the office.


	2. Chapter 2

The black Escalade swung into the parking lot of the police station, pulling into the spot marked 'RESERVED' spray painted in white lettering on the brick building. Hawke unbuckled his belt, pulling the keys from the ignition, and took one last look at himself in the review mirror before getting out. His boots sloshed in a puddle, the asphalt shining with the earlier rain. The sky was clear now, stars dotting the inky black sky above. He inhaled the cool scent, loving the feeling of a late summer shower. Resigned to having to deal with this directly and making a mental note to speak to Isabela about her girls, he slammed the car door shut, headlights blinking as he locked it.

The Kirkwall police department had three precincts, and Aveline overlooked the largest that covered most of Darktown and a good portion of Lowtown. As much as she bitched about it, he knew she wouldn't have it any other way. He'd known her the better part of a decade now, having met shortly after the death of her first husband Wesley. He'd only been home for a few days, fighting some Chantry war when he got caught on the wrong side of town. Some wannabe recruit of the Darkspawn Gang knifed him between the ribs. The little shit would've gotten away with it too had it not been for Hawke's intel. Aveline wanted revenge, but she wanted to do it by the book. It was a trait that was a source of never ending frustration for Hawke. He pulled in a few favors and three of the members were found guilty. And the rest of the gang?

Well, Hawke wasn't head of the Amell family for nothing. His cousin Daylen out of Ferelden cut the proverbial head off that band of nobodies and the gang scattered to the four winds. In almost five years, there'd been barely a peep from the group. It made the streets a bit quieter at any rate, and Aveline had her justice. Speaking of…

"Captain, she needs to be processed!"

Hawke heard the bellow even from the street as he pulled open the glass door of the precinct. He winced at the harsh fluorescent lighting, stepping inside, and winked at the pretty dispatcher at the front desk – Branna? Brenna? Something like that. She grinned and looked down, blushing. Ignoring the shouting that was coming down the hall, he leaned casually on the counter and waited until she looked back up at him.

"Mr. Hawke. What can I do for you?"

"Just Hawke. Like the bird," he said, smiling. "You free Friday night, sweetheart?"

"I have a boyfriend."

"See," he said, wagging a finger, "that's not what I asked. I asked if you were free. Dinner at the Blooming Rose, maybe a movie. Sex."

Brenna or Brianna giggled, ducking her head. "I can't, serah. I'm sorry."

"But you'd like to," he purred, leaning in, trapping a lock her short hair with his index finger.

"Hawke!"

Hawke rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "Duty calls. I'll be back," he promised, pushing away from the counter. He winked before turning on his heel, lifting a hand to Aveline who was leaning out of her office, glaring.

"I don't pay Brennan to flirt with you," she snapped. "In." She pointed inside her office.

_Brennan! I was close._ Not that Hawke would remember her name the next time he got called down to the precinct, or even ten minutes from now. He stepped inside, Aveline following.

"Detective, you know Mr. Hawke."

Now this was a man whose name Hawke remembered. Well, nickname anyway. He highly doubted anyone's parents would be so cruel as to name their son "Justice." Then again, his father did bestow his brother with "Carver" so who knew. Justice was taller than Hawke, though not as broad. His blue eyes were so bright Hawke swore they were colored contacts, and his dark blond buzz cut was disgustingly military-issue. He bet the man even used a ruler to make sure it wasn't over regulation. Hawke had never gotten along with him, despite having most of the department on his side after ousting the last captain, Jeven.

It helped that he had the viscount in his pocket after all. He could convince Dumar it was going to snow in the middle of summer if he needed to. Justice did not approve. There was little the detective did approve of, and Hawke tried to stay out of his way more because he didn't want the hassle than out of any love for him.

"Captain, I must insist-"

"Insist elsewhere, detective," Aveline snapped, sounding tired. "Dismissed."

Justice opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it quickly. He glared at Hawke and left, shutting the door behind him. Hawke shrugged, slumping in a chair across from Aveline, crossing an ankle over his knee and waited. Aveline shuffled some papers on her desk, closing the lid of her laptop before leaning over to hand Hawke a file.

"What's this? I thought I was here about a girl."

"You are. Just not yet. I need your help."

Hawke frowned and opened the folder, flipping through the papers. He caught sight of the mug shot and scowled. "Meeran. I thought I threw him out on his ass."

"He's back. Or at least we think he is." She made a 'go on' gesture.

He flipped a few more papers, taking out a crime scene photo and turning it around to look at the details. "Shit. Yeah, that's Red Iron." The victim's head was removed – shoddily, poor bastard – and a bloody "I" carved into his chest. "I knew I should've killed that fucker when I had the chance. This is what I get for being soft."

Aveline snorted. "Yeah, a regular teddy bear. So?"

Hawke tucked the file back together and closed the folder. "How many victims?"

"Four. All in Hightown-" She held up a hand as he gave a disgusted eyeroll. "I know it's not your favorite place, Hawke. Maker, you _live_ there. But quid pro quo, right? That's how we keep this relationship going."

"Keep talking like that and I might give Donnic a run for his money," Hawke teased, waggling his eyebrows at her.

She stared at him stonily. "Tell me yes, Hawke, or I let my detectives raid the Pearl on the basis that your girl dances there."

Hawke groaned. "Ugh. Fine. I'll look into it and see what that rat bastard wants. Happy?"

"No, but it's good enough for now. I'll email you a copy of the file."

Hawke tossed the folder on the desk and led the way out, holding the door open for Aveline before following her down the hall to the overnight cells. He glanced in.

"Evelina."

She looked up, excited for a second, then worried. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Hawke! I didn't mean to get caught. I-"

"Easy," he said as Aveline unlocked the door. "What happened? C'mon." He waved her out encouragingly and gently took her by the shoulder. "Talk to me."

"I was just walking back to the Pearl after a quick break. You know my sons hang out at that late night coffee shop when I dance, right? And some guy, he asks me for a BJ. I tell him no, I ain't that kind of girl."

"Mmhm," Hawke said, actually believing her. Isabela's girls knew better than to lie to him. They gave it to him straight and he made sure they were taken care of. "You know this guy's name?"

"No, serah," she said. "Just your usual scum."

"And then?"

"Then he gets me up against the wall and a few seconds later, the cops come and arrest me. He ran off and they say they chased him-"

"We did," Aveline snapped.

"Yeah well you ain't caught him, did ya?" Evelina shot back. "So I get arrested for prostitution! I ain't a whore!"

"You just work for one."

Hawke grabbed Evelina by the shoulders, pulling her away from Aveline as she made to leap at her, nails like claws. Aveline stepped back quickly.

"Easy, easy, kitten!" Hawke said. "Go wait in my car, yeah? I'll take you back to Isabela."

Evelina at least did not spit on Aveline as she passed. Hawke took out his keys and pressed the unlock button before looking at Aveline.

"Cash or charge?"

Aveline sighed. "Cash is fine. I'll get the release forms."

Hawke grinned and followed her back to her office.


	3. Chapter 3

His fingers threaded in her hair, guiding her head up and down as she sucked his cock. Hawke grunted, hips rising and falling a bit with each movement. The motion detector light at the back of the Pearl was on, though he'd parked somewhat off to the side. No doubt if Isabela watched the security footage later, she'd have a nice view of Hawke's face when he came down Evelina's throat. He wasn't one to say no to the willing, and Evelina was smart, if a little impulsive. She knew how to get on his good side, and a quick suck in the parking lot before she had to return to work was just the thing he needed.

"Swallow it," he ordered, gritting his teeth as he came, holding her head down, riding out his orgasm. 

He closed his eyes, head back against the leather headrest as she swallowed before she sat up, pulling a tissue from the box in the center console and wiped him off. A loud rapping on the window made him jump and he looked over, scowling to see Isabela standing there, waving and grinning. He turned the key halfway in the ignition and rolled the window down.

"What?" he growled.

Isabela leaned up, folding her arms on the doorframe and looked down, eyeing his cock. "Ooh," she purred. "That for me? I didn't even order take out."

Hawke sighed and tucked himself back into his pants, careful with his zipper. "You find me a name for the guy that nearly raped Evelina and I'll make sure he has to piss in a bag the rest of his life." He looked at Evelina. "Go on, sweetheart. Back to work. You got kids to take care of."

Evelina smiled and slid from the SUV, shutting the door behind her before heading into the propped open 'Employees Only' door. Isabela raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. Hawke pulled a fifty from his wallet and handed it to her. She grinned, snatching it from his fingers and tucked it into her bra.

"Generous tipper tonight," she said. "Must've been a pretty good one."

Hawke always tipped well, and Isabela knew it. Even though a hefty portion of the Pearl's proceeds fed directly into his account, he let the girls keep all the tips they made. After all, some of them were putting themselves through college. He almost let out a laugh at the thought.

"Maybe I ought to put someone on the corner, just for protection."

"We can handle ourselves," Isabela said. "Though a little extra muscle I wouldn't say no to. Maybe Fenris-"

"No."

She pouted.

"Fuck him all you want on your time off," Hawke said. "Not on my dime, got it?"

"Sir, yes, sir. What's got your panties in a bunch tonight?"

Hawke sighed. "Remember Sabin?"

She tapped a thin, dark finger against her lips exaggeratedly. "Sabin… Sabin… Was he the one with the tattoo of the skull on his ass?"

"I wouldn't know, would I?" Hawke snapped.

"Aw, sweetie, you ought to try a cock every now and again. They're tons of fun." She grinned, gripping the doorframe and leaning back a bit, arms squishing her breasts together and enhancing her already generous cleavage.

"I got one of my own, don't need another," he said flippantly. "Anyway. Shipment leak's been dealt with."

"But that's good news, isn't it?" she asked, falling serious now. "That means the payment cuts will be corrected. Varric'll be pleased."

Hawke clicked his tongue. "I don't know. Sure, the payments'll be sorted, but I don't like it when people lie to me. Something just feels off. Keep your ear to the ground, okay?"

"I usually do," she purred.

"I mean when you're not getting ploughed into the carpet."

"You are simply no fun." She grinned. "Sunday dinner?"

"Mom's making meatloaf, I think. There's always a spot for you, doll." He started the car, leaning out the window so he could kiss her, enjoying her fingernails scratching at his scalp. "Mm. Hey. Hang on," he said, and she tried to pull away. He leaned out a bit further, hand going down to grab her ass firmly, and he kissed her again.

She pushed him back after a minute. "Stop. Or you'll make me ruin my panties."

"You don't wear them," he growled.

"Oh. Right." She ruffled his hair and laughed, heading back inside.

Hawke watched as the door shut, and then pulled out of the parking lot. His phone rang and he fished it from his pocket. "Yeah?"

"Hawke."

Fenris's voice. Hawke slowed a bit. Fenris never called unless it was something serious.

"What happened?"

"They got Carver," Fenris said quietly, his breathing labored.

Hawke's blood ran cold. "Where are you?"

"Fifth and…" There was a pause. "Bus stop."

"Fenris? Fenris, god damn it, you better be bleeding out and near death if you're telling me someone got my brother."

He heard a curse word in Tevene or Nevarran or whatever the fuck language Fenris was speaking. He put the phone on speaker and tossed it on the passenger seat just in case Fenris had any more useful insight. Due the lateness of the hour there was little traffic on the road and he ran four red lights getting to Fifth Street. There were at least fourteen bus stops on that road and Hawke had no idea what side of the street they were on.

"Fenris! North or south!"

"South…"

At least he was heading the right direction. Breaking the speed limit easily, he only slowed when he approached a stop, and saw Fenris slumped against the bus shelter. Hawke pulled over, barely stopping to throw it in park before he jumped out. He knelt down in front of Fenris, pulling his hand away from his side. His black shirt was soaked through, hand covered in blood.

"Knife?"

"Gun," Fenris said, and this time Hawke swore.

He pulled open the door of the backseat and grabbed Fenris's arm, draping it over his shoulder and pulled him up. Fenris could barely walk, growing paler now by the minute.

"You're lucky I like you," Hawke grunted, heaving him into the backseat. "Otherwise I'd be really pissed that you're making a mess on my leather upholstery."

He slammed the door shut and got to the driver's side, giving his mirrors a cursory glance before taking off.

"Fenris?"

Fenris groaned.

"Fenris, you fucking bastard, if you die I'll find a way to bring you back so I can kill you."

He tried not to panic. They'd been in bad situations before, life-threatening situations. Thing of it was though, it was always Hawke who'd taken a bullet or suffered a knife wound. And it was always Fenris or Isabela or Merrill getting him out of scrapes, not the other way around. He fumbled for his phone and hit his speed dial.

"It's almost two in the morn-"

"Hospital off Fifth that's open and discreet."

There was a pause and then the sound of Varric typing. "Take a right on Weisshaupt. It's on your left. Free clinic."

"Fuck!" Hawke shouted. "Fenris got shot, you want me to take him to some hack job shit clinic?"

"Best I can do and best chance you got depending on where he got shot."

"Stomach."

Varric swore. "Weisshaupt. I'll make some calls."

"I'll call you back."

"Don't let Broody die."

Hawke hung up, tucking his phone in his pocket before slamming his palm on the steering wheel. "Fuck! FUCK!" It did nothing to abate his anger, though. Whoever hurt one of his would pay. And whoever took his brother wouldn't live long enough to regret it.

Hawke would make damn sure of it.


	4. Chapter 4

Anders lifted the half empty pot of coffee and refilled his mug, took a long sip, burning his tongue, and topped it off. The clock on the wall ticked to five past two, and he was exhausted. Between his day shifts at the hospital and overnights at the clinic, he was lucky to get one full day off a week. At least the clinic was usually slow, worried mothers bringing in their kids with fevers or stupid teenagers that cut their limbs or heads trying to impress their friends when they should have been at home in bed. He shook his head at the thought.

_Maker, when did I get so old?_

He used to be one of those stupid kids, running around at all hours of the night. His father certainly didn't care what happened to him. When his mother died shortly after his twelfth birthday, Anders was left to raise himself. It was a wonder he managed to make it as far as he did.

"Lirene," he called up to the reception area. "You want coffee?"

"No, hon, I'm fine. Go take a nap or something. You look ragged."

Anders smiled and took his coffee back to one of the offices. There were two, one that he shared with another doctor who also took up extra shifts when he could, and the main that belonged to the woman who ran the clinic. Selby was a difficult boss, and he was glad he was only there a few nights a week, even if the pay was worth it. Scraping together rent on his salary was difficult, even for his little one bedroom in Lowtown. He settled at the desk, rubbing his temples. 

His phone buzzed, vibrating against the desk and he leaned forward to look at it. With a sigh, he flipped it open – it was an older phone but he couldn't afford an upgrade just yet – and brought it to his ear. "Hello, Justice."

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

"I know."

"Yet you do it anyway."

"Did you call me to have an argument about your name, or was there a reason?"

"My shift ended. Do you want me to bring you dinner?"

Maker, he couldn't even go one day without his brother calling him. Justice was almost ten years older than him, already out of college and in police training when their mother died. He came home on a leave of absence for the funeral but had to return immediately after. He knew Justice blamed himself for her death and for the way their father treated Anders after. He had been trying to make up for it now for years.

"No. I'm not hungry and I'd rather not eat right now anyway." His system likely wouldn't be able to handle it. The copious amounts of coffee he'd already ingested was a terrible idea, but he needed the caffeine.

"Are you sure?" Justice asked. "I have leftovers-"

"Justice, I'm fine," he insisted. "I'm not a child anymore. You don't need to treat me like one."

There was a pause and Anders swore mentally. His brother could be so touchy sometimes, especially if he'd had a bad day at work. Justice didn't take it well when things went wrong on the job. Anders knew it would happen when he switched from narcotics to homicide. Busting drug dealers was much more satisfying than watching killers walk free. But Anders knew he wasn't one to talk. He'd chosen the medical profession knowing full well all of the pitfalls. He didn't even want to try to remember how many patients he'd lost over the years.

"Very well," Justice said.

"How was work?"

"I think the Captain is losing her touch. She may need to be replaced."

"Oh yeah? And who'd replace her?" Anders asked, sipping his coffee. They had this conversation at least once a month. Aveline was too soft or she looked the other way too many times or she let a pickpocket go when he should've been locked up for life. Justice was very black and white. He was a good cop, a great detective, but what he knew about the human condition could fill a thimble.

"There is the captain from the other precinct."

"Cullen? The man with the perpetual stick up his ass?"

Justice paused, and Anders could hear the frown.

"He does his duty."

"He hates people like me," Anders said, lowering his voice. "At least Aveline is willing to look the other way when…"

Justice growled. "Don't speak of it on an unsecured line!"

"Unsec- Okay, Kojak, time to switch to decaf." Anders laughed, leaning forward, rubbing his forehead. "Look, I should go. I'm fine, I promise."

"Anders…"

"I promise," he insisted.

"The anniversary is next week."

Anders gripped the phone a bit tighter, feeling sick. "I don't want to talk about it."

"It'll be four years."

"You're my brother and I love you," Anders said quietly, "but if you don't drop the subject right now, I'm going to hang up and you won't hear from me for a month."

There was another pause, and Anders listened to the silence, the hum and flicker of the light above him as it threatened to burn out.

"Very well."

Justice knew it wasn't an empty threat. And for all that Anders loved him, he would cut ties easily. No one talked to him about what happened all those years ago. Not Justice, not Lirene.

"I have Saturday off," Anders offered. "Do you want to do something?"

"I have paperwork to fill. And… Joy is coming over."

Anders grinned. The woman Justice met shortly before he made detective had been his on-again/off-again girlfriend. He was always in a better mood when she was around, and even Anders had to admit that she had a certain quality about her that lit up the room. If anyone was aptly named, it was her. Though Anders was wary of her – she was a Chantry missionary, spreading the word of the Maker and was only in town for a few days out of every month. Anders had no love for an absent god who never seemed to help him out, but he wasn't going to deny his brother a chance at happiness.

"Good. Tell her I said hello."

"You could join us."

"I'd rather not be a participant in that threesome."

"You are depraved."

Anders laughed. "You have no idea, brother. Okay, let me go. I have paperwork as well."

"You mean you have more Sudoku pages to fill."

Anders feigned a hurt tone. "You wound me!"

"You'll never finish your book."

"Yes, well." It pained him to think about it. He'd been nearly finished with it when… Well, that was four years ago and the manuscript was still sitting in his bottom dresser drawer, collecting dust. It was a mystery even to himself why he hadn't chucked it in the fire yet. "I'll call you later."

"You had better."

"Yes, sir."

"Take care, Anders."

"You, too," he said, and closed his phone, tossing it back on the desk.

Justice was a pain in the ass, but he was the only family Anders had left. Sipping his coffee, he rifled through his bag and pulled out a worn Sudoku book, smirking a bit. He was just about to start on a new puzzle when Lirene's panicked shouts filtered down the hall.

"Anders!"

He shot to his feet, white coat flapping behind him as he raced to the front. The automatic glass doors slid open allowing two men to enter, the first dragging the second who was covered in blood and unconscious.

"Get a gurney," he ordered Lirene, and quickly snapped on a pair of latex gloves. He pulled the unconscious man's other arm over his shoulder. "Don't worry," he assured the first, "we'll take care of him."


	5. Chapter 5

Hawke dragged Fenris's unconscious form onto the gurney and watched as they wheeled him to the back room, the blond man issuing orders at the woman. His initial panic had fled, adrenaline coursing through him as he paced the waiting room. Whoever shot Fenris was a dead man. He'd killed the last person who hurt his friend. A boss in Tevinter – and what a shithole that place was – who decided that the Chantry's views didn't align with their own. The entire place was a different monster and Hawke, so used to dealing with other cities in the Free Marches, tended to avoid business with them as much as possible. He'd been doing so until Fenris wandered into his midst, young and pathetic and begging for help.

He had training as a bodyguard. So Hawke helped him. He liked useful people after all.

After a few years of a slowly building friendship, Hawke called on one of his friends in the Crows to teach Fenris the finer parts of assassination. In addition to several forms of martial arts, Fenris trained to improve his marksmanship until he was wickedly accurate with a rifle, and didn't flinch from inflicting torture. In fact, if Hawke had to be absolutely truthful with himself, Fenris scared him just a little. It was a good thing from an enforcer. And as long as he kept Fenris happy, Fenris wouldn't turn on him like he had Danarius. Hawke still shivered at the memory of that fight. He had to pay off a lot of people to turn their heads when Fenris appeared in the papers, covered in the Magister's blood.

Magisters, another family who thought they owned the world. Luckily they kept mostly to themselves. Hawke knew his borders, his boundaries. Kirkwall was in a prime shipping location and a lot of product moved through his city to get to other countries. He had a terse alignment with Starkhaven, knew their head quite well. Sebastian Vael was a notable playboy and while Hawke didn't swing that way, he let his captains play with him whenever he was in town. Hawke had to give him respect – youngest of three, he clawed, blackmailed and bribed his way as head of his family. Destined to live in obscurity, and instead he ran Starkhaven like it was his own kingdom. Much like Hawke did Kirkwall.

Hawke shook his head, trying to focus. He looked up at the woman coming from the back. Her teddy bear patterned scrubs were covered in blood and she was pulling gloves from her hands. Hawke watched her toss them in the hazardous waste bin and pick up a clipboard and pen. With a tentative, concerned smile, she handed it to him.

"Does your friend have any drug allergies?"

"No, none that I'm aware of," Hawke said, taking the clipboard. He hated paperwork. Varric handled his paperwork for him. That's what he paid Varric for. But Varric likely wouldn't be there for a bit. So he took up the pen and started filling it out. "How is he?"

"He looks like he's in great physical condition," she said hopefully. "Dr. Anders is going to get him stable and then we'll transfer him to St. Elthina's-"

"No," Hawke snapped, looking up. "No Chantry-sanctioned hospitals." The last thing he needed was for them to look too closely at Fenris's lyrium tattoos and decide he was better locked up in the Gallows for his own safety.

The woman shifted, looking a bit nervous. "I'm sorry, serah but he needs surgery to remove the bullet."

"No. You tell your Dr. Anders that he fixes him up here. Or Dr. Anders is going to be looking for a new profession, got it?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you ought to wait outside and cool down a little."

Hawke felt his temper flare. He took a step forward and she stepped back quickly.

"Lirene!" It was the doctor, standing in the hall now, coat gone, scrubs covered in blood. "I need your help."

Hawke looked at him. "You better save him."

"We're doing our best," Anders said evenly as Lirene hurried past him. "Threaten my staff again and I'll have the police throw you out."

Hawke glared. Didn't this man know who he was? "Listen, Blondie-"

"Doctor. And if you want your friend to live, we'll have to transfer him for surgery to have the bullet removed."

"You can't just… I don't know. Go at it with a pair of tweezers like they do in the movies?"

Anders scoffed. "You think this is a movie?"

"I'll pay you double. Look. He can't go to the hospital, okay?" Hawke hated arguing. He never had to argue. He said something, people did it. He earned that right, that respect. Who the hell was this doctor to tell him no? To stand there and threaten the cops on _him_?

Anders frowned, lips pursed tightly. "We'll do what we can. But I make the call. This isn't about money, serah, it's about saving lives."

Hawke was about to belabor the point, to tell Anders that everyone had a price, it was just a matter of finding what it was. But Anders turned on his heel and disappeared into the back. Hawke finished filling out the form and dropped it on the front desk before taking out his phone and hitting the speed dial.

"I'm on my way there now, Hawke."

"Doctor said he might have to go to St. Elthina's."

"Bullshit. I'll be there in ten to sweet talk him nice and proper."

Hawke paused, looking around to make sure he wasn't going to be overheard, and lowered his voice. "Someone took Carver."

Varric swore. "Who?"

"If I knew," Hawke carefully, trying to control his anger, "they'd be a grease stain on the Imperial, wouldn't they?"

Speaking of highways and body disposals, he spared a thought for Sabin's corpse and Fenris's car, wondering where they were. Maker, he'd have to sort that out when Varric got in. He checked the time; nearly half past. Merrill would be up for a bit of detective work in finding that out, he was sure. Not that he particularly liked asking her to use her magic, but desperate times… And Aveline often overlooked it.

"Look, Hawke, just sit tight and we'll get this sorted out."

"If they hurt Carver…"

"Listen," Varric said, nearly barking the word, and really he was the only one Hawke even remotely let speak to him that way, "Junior's gonna be fine. We'll worry about that after we make sure Fenris isn't going to bleed out in some free clinic in that shithole of a neighborhood."

"He deserves better, Varric."

"I know, kid. I'll be there in five."

Hawke let him hang up first and then looked at his phone, debating. He sent a quick text to Merrill with dump coordinates and simple instructions. He loved her like a sister, but she was really only focused when it came to her lab and computer work. Useless for healing magic and scatterbrained worse than anyone he'd ever met, she'd become an invaluable part of the group after Isabela recruited her from the Dalish family in Ferelden. He let out a mirthless laugh. His family, such a ragtag group. But they got shit done. And no one fucked with them, not while Hawke drew breath.

He paced a few more minutes and felt a flooding relief when Varric strode in. Short and stocky, Varric's hair was back in a sloppy ponytail, gold chains around his neck, appearing the very stereotype of a boss. Ironic, considering he wasn't. But he was the best damn advisor in the whole of the Free Marches – probably in all of Thedas. And he was Hawke's best friend. Though Hawke would never admit it out loud. It was obvious Hawke had gotten him out of bed; he wasn't often out of his perfectly pressed Antivan suits. Wearing jeans and a shirt buttoned only halfway with a brown leather jacket, he looked every bit like the weekend dad he was.

Hawke gave him a one-armed embrace.

"Fenris?" Varric asked.

"Back there. No idea what's going on." Maker, how he hated that. But after watching his father bleed out on a hospital table and then being thrown bodily from the emergency room for his violent behavior, Hawke knew how to show some restraint.

"There's a diner that's open twenty-four hours," Varric noted. "I'll get you a coffee?"

Hawke shook his head. "I don't need it."

"Hawke, you're shaking."

"I am not!"

Varric shook his head and was about to respond when Anders emerged from the back again. Hawke looked at him hopefully.

"He's stable and I removed the bullet. He's asleep at the moment. I gave him a pretty heavy dose of painkillers and he'll need to stay here."

"Oh thank the Maker," Hawke breathed. "Okay, Varric-"

"You stay," Varric said. "Want me to take care of your car?"

Hawke handed him the keys. "Maybe grab me a coffee on the way back, then. I'm not going anywhere for a while."

Varric nodded and left to take care of things, and Hawke made a mental note to get him something very, very nice for Christmas this year. He looked at Anders.

"Can I see him?"

Anders frowned. "There's a few questions first."

"I already filled out the form," Hawke said, gesturing.

"We have to report all gunshot wounds to the police," Anders said, pulling his gloves from his hands. "Come into my office – it'll only take a minute."

Hawke sighed heavily. "Fine, fine," he agreed, waving a hand. Momentarily satisfied that Fenris wasn't going to die and with full confidence in Varric to take care of other things, Hawke followed the doctor down the hall.


	6. Chapter 6

Hawke sat, an ankle crossed over his knee, clipboard in hand. He filled out the report as a mugging and kept the details as vague as he could. It was Aveline's district, so he shouldn't have been worried. Anything with his name on it that passed her desk usually got overlooked or conveniently recycled. He watched the doctor move to a locker in the corner of the office and pull out a fresh top.

"So are you some sort of miracle worker?"

Anders turned sharply. "What?"

"Saving his life and all. I mean, no offense but I never expected to find someone who knew shit all about patching a bullet wound in a dump like this."

"No off-" Anders scoffed. "You have to have a medical degree to work here, you know," he said, gesturing to the diplomas that hung on the wall.

Hawke looked at them. "University at Denerim? No shit, I used to live in Ferelden too."

"Small world," Anders muttered, removing his bloodied top and dropping it in a laundry bin. "So if I can ask, why no hospital?"

"Where'd you get those?" Hawke asked, not answering him, pointing at his back. There were several scars.

"Personal," Anders said, yanking the new top over his head. He removed his hair tie and ran his fingers through his hair before putting it back again. "Fine. You don't need to answer my questions. Your boyfriend will be fine, but he needs to stay the night. You're welcome to sit with him."

"Boyfr- No," Hawke said with a light laugh. "No, no, he's like… like a brother. More than my actual brother." He spared a thought for Carver and touched his pocket, anxious for a call or return text from Merrill. "What about you?"

"No, I don't have a boyfriend," Anders responded tersely.

"I meant brothers." Hawke didn't know why he was asking. He didn't care about this guy.

"One, yes. Did you want to go see-" Anders glanced down at the chart, "-John Smith now?"

Hawke stood, tossing the clipboard on the desk. "Lead the way."

He followed Anders down the hall, past a wide open space with neatly made hospital beds. One was covered in blood, empty saline packages on the ground. Through all his experiences, he never saw someone lose so much blood and still live. Putting his trust in this doctor was a risky move, but he knew he could more easily silence one man than an entire hospital staff. Threats were easier than bribes when it came to his ability to negotiate.

Anders opened the door for him and Hawke stepped inside. Fenris was wearing a hospital gown, and Maker knew Hawke would have to tease him for that later. He was unconscious, an IV in his arm and another piece of equipment monitoring his heart rate. There was a thin breathing tube in his nose and he looked paler than freshly fallen snow. Hawke winced and approached, looking down at him.

"Stupid," he muttered.

"Once the anesthesia wears off and he wakes up maybe he can tell us more about the mugging."

Hawke shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Cops won't do anything." He learned from an early age that the only person who helped you was yourself. After his father died, nothing was closer to the truth for him. He was the ones holding the strings, keeping everything tied neatly together. "So long as he's alive, that's what matters."

"He'll be fine. Only…"

Hawke looked over at the doctor who was hovering in the doorway. "Only what?"

Anders frowned and pulled out a wallet from the pile of clothing on the chair. "What kind of mugger doesn't take a wallet?"

Hawke crossed the room and snatched it from his hand. He flipped open the leather billfold and took a quick assessment. Driver's license, credit cards, cash. All in Fenris's old name, back when he ran with the Magisters. He closed it and tucked it into his coat pocket.

"Look, Mr. Hawke," Anders started. "If the police ask, I'm going to have to tell them-"

"You don't have to tell them shit, you got it?" Hawke said, stepping up into his personal space, forcing him back against a wall. "He was mugged. Mugger got scared when he shot him. Forgot to take his wallet. Got it?"

Anders glared at him, nearly nose-to-nose. He was slightly taller, but skinny. Hawke could likely break him in half if he needed to.

"Don't threaten me, boy," Anders said quietly. He had no idea who this guy thought he was, but he wouldn't be pushed around in his own clinic. He could handle crying, weeping mothers or angry fathers demanding to know why he couldn't do more, but he was already risking a lot by saving this life. Justice was on speed dial and would come breaking down walls if he thought Anders was in trouble. But Anders wasn't without his own protection. "Step back."

Hawke wanted to punch him. This arrogant, self-righteous little prick. But it would give Varric a headache if he had to smooth things over and he had no desire to do that beyond what he already had. "Just so long as we understand one another," he said, stepping back.

Anders smoothed his shirt, taking a step away from the wall. "I am sorry you're grieving, but another outburst like that and I will have to ask you to go." He debated adding, 'My brother is a cop,' but held his tongue. "If you want to wait, I can brew a new pot of coffee."

Hawke waved a hand, crossing the room and dropping into a seat next to Fenris's bedside. "Two sugars, two creamers."

Irritated at the dismissal, Anders left somewhat in a huff. Hawke leaned forward, looking at Fenris, eyes going to the plastic band around his wrist. 'Smith, John' was printed out with 'NKDA' under that, and a number. He looked away from it. It reminded him of his father, reduced to a number before they put him in the ground. But Fenris wouldn't die. Arrogant, prickly doctor that he was, Anders seemed capable enough. His phone interrupted his thoughts and he pulled it out, looking at the name.

"Merrill, give me good news," he said, answering.

"I moved the car back to the estate and it's being cleaned now. There was a fresh grave not too far off the highway. Whoever did this must have picked them up there and dumped Fenris where you found him."

"I need a-" He lowered his voice. "Tracking spell," he whispered.

"I'm already on it but it's going to take a bit to get Carver's location."

"Send the coordinates to Varric when you do."

There was a pause, and he could practically see her bouncing on her heels.

"What is it, Merrill?" he asked, trying to stay patient. She never took it personally when he lost his temper with her, and for some reason that always made him feel worse.

"Is Fenris okay?"

"Doctor said he'll be fine. I'll call you otherwise. Just focus on getting those coordinates."

"I will, Hawke. I won't let you down."

"You never do," he said, and ended the call. He debated calling Bethany, turning the phone over in his hand a few times. She would hear about it sooner or later, and if she learned about Carver's disappearance from someone else, he'd have hell to pay. With a sigh, he opened his contacts and tapped her name.

"This is Bethy, leave a message."

Hawke gritted his teeth as the phone beeped. Fucking voicemail. "I don't want to say this in a message. Call me back." He hung up and waited. The phone barely rang when he picked it up. "Since when you screen my calls?"

"I was asleep, you ass." She sounded it. "What?"

"Someone got Carver."

"Garrett, what?"

"I'm handling it. But I wanted you to know."

There was silence on the other end. Nothing more really needed to be said, a quiet understanding between siblings. Though Carver was her twin, Bethany had always seemed more comfortable with Hawke, joked more easily with him, was probably the only one who really wasn't afraid of him. Even their mother seemed somewhat cowed when Hawke turned his glare on her. Not that he did it often, only when she dared speak about his father in his presence.

"Take care of this, Garrett. You bring him home safely."

"I will. I promise."

She sighed. "I can't sleep now."

"Merrill's working on something. She might need help," he suggested. "Fenris is… he was shot. He's fine."

"Maker's breath."

He heard the rustling of sheets.

"Alright, I'm going to call Merrill. Take care of Fenris."

"I will," Hawke promised. "I'll bring Carver home," he said. There was a pause, then he heard the disconnect on the other end. He frowned before sliding the lock on his phone and setting it on the bedside table. 

"Who's Carver?"

Hawke turned. Anders was standing in the doorway, holding two cups of coffee. He scowled. "None of your business. Are all doctors as nosy as you?"

"Just me," Anders said, handing him a cup.

Hawke sipped, frowning. He sipped again. "…usually can't get anyone to make me a decent cup like this."

"Maybe you should start doing it yourself then?" Anders asked, sipping from his own before moving to check the heart rate monitor. "I'll send Lirene in a bit later. Knock on the office door if you need anything sooner."

He left without waiting for a response, and Hawke watched him go. He looked down at the coffee, frowning still. Shoving away errant thoughts that tried to creep into his brain, he sat back, taking up his phone again. It would be awhile before Varric would get there, so he settled in and opened his newsfeed.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hawke."

Hawke jerked awake, rubbing his eyes. He'd fallen asleep in the uncomfortable chair sometime around dawn. Varric had come and gone, leaving keys atop Hawke's phone on the table. Hawke yawned and looked up, then realized why he'd woken. Fenris was awake, looking over at him.

"Fenris, welcome back to the world," he said, clearing his throat. "Feeling all right?"

Fenris hissed as he struggled to sit up. Hawke slid a hand behind his shoulders and helped him, Fenris pushing him away obstinately.

"Jeeze, getting shot only served to make you more ornery," Hawke joked lightly. 

"Can we leave?" Fenris said, tugging the tube from his nose. He looked ready to pull the IV from his arm as well.

"I'll go talk to the doctor," Hawke said, taking up his keys and phone. He glanced at the latter, noting the new voicemails. Hopefully Merrill had found something. "Sit tight," he said, distractedly, checking his voice messages as he left to find the doctor.

"Hawke, it's Merrill. I think I found the spot. Varric's looking into it. Bethany says she'll call you."

He deleted it and checked the next.

"It's Bethy. Call me back."

That didn't sound good. Likely she would demand to go with him to pick up Carver. Though Bethany had mastered her magic, she was a liability in a physical fight. It was one thing to have to cover up murders and bury bodies, it was another entirely to hide magic once it was out in the open. The Chantry had their armies everywhere. There was no knowing if a flash of magic in the air would bring the templars down upon them. Sure, using magic in the privacy of your own home was no more illegal than shooting lyrium into your veins behind those closed doors. Templars couldn't perform illegal searches, and Hawke was careful about probable cause.

He sighed. He'd have to let Bethany hate him for a few days when he ordered her to stay home. He checked the last.

"Hawke," came Varric's voice, "I took care of your car and cleared your calendar. I also took it upon myself to contact Vael. He's in town and you're not going after Junior alone."

"Fucking hell!"

"I bet you're cursing my name right now, but trust me on this. He'll be at your estate by noon with a few of his Flint Company men. They're good people Hawke, use them."

Hawke deleted the message and scowled. Sebastian Vael, that's all he needed. Technically he was owed several favors from the Starkhaven boss, but preferred the favors to be impersonal. Information on Orlesian shipments that fell off the back of the truck, or blackmail material on Ferelden's king. Using the prince to rush in and help him save Carver seemed like he was cashing in all his chips at once. Besides, he had Isabela and Merrill if he needed help. Even wounded, Fenris was more deadly than any Flint Company scum.

He checked the time. Just past ten. Knocking on the door to the office, he listened at the scuffling inside. A short man with scraggly brown hair opened it and looked up at him. Hawke scowled.

"Where's Anders?" he demanded.

"Huh? Oh! Dr. Anders is gone for the day. He only works overnight. Are you Mr. Hawke? He said to let you sleep."

Great. He looked at the man's badge that was clipped to his coat. "Well Dr…. Jowan. If you could sign the release forms for my friend, we'll pay the bill and get the hell out of your way."

"Of course!" He retreated into the office and pulled Fenris's chart, signing a few things and handing them to Hawke. "I'll go remove that IV and you just give this to Lily up at the front."

Hawke took the papers, irritated. Normally he was used to making people nervous, but Jowan seemed already to be a jittery wreck of a man. He found himself thanking the absent Maker that Anders had been there last night instead of Jowan. Hawke would've taken his chances with the Chantry's hospital if that had been the case. He handed the papers to Lily, a cute little nurse whose bangs were cut a bit funny.

"Hey sweetheart," he said idly.

Lily scowled at him and handed him the bill. "How will messere be paying his bill today?"

Hawke looked at it and whistled. "For a free clinic, you people sure do charge a lot." He pulled out his wallet and handed her cash. "Keep the change."

Lily scoffed, moved to a locked drawer and pulled out his change. "Sign this," she said, pushing it over to him.

"You know, you'd be a lot cuter if you got fucked." He wasn't in the mood to put up with frigid bitches today. She started to sputter and he signed the receipt, taking his change.

Luckily Jowan appeared, pushing Fenris in a wheelchair. Fenris looked like he was about to kill the doctor, hands gripping the arms of the chair.

"I am not an invalid," he growled.

Hawke smirked. "Ready to go, gimpy?"

Fenris glared daggers at him but said nothing as they moved outside. Jowan handed Hawke a prescription and Fenris got to his feet slowly, wincing.

"Dr. Anders filled this out last night. Painkillers if he needs any. You can call for a refill. Quick recovery, Mr. Smith," Jowan said, patting Fenris on the shoulder before taking the chair back inside.

"Let me wound him," Fenris said, holding his side.

Hawke laughed lightly. "I don't think Aveline would let that one go."

Fenris tried to walk, but stumbled, and begrudgingly allowed Hawke to help him to the car. Hawke inspected the backseat, looking over Varric's cleanup job before getting in. Fenris lowered the back of the chair, eyes closed, still holding his side.

"Let's get your percocets before you pass out from pain, you pussy."

Fenris growled and Hawke laughed, pulling out of the parking lot. The light mood vanished quickly as Fenris spoke.

"I couldn't see their faces. They had me blindfolded. Jumped us as we were coming out of the woods. I took out four of the bastards, but they were prepared, Hawke. Sheer numbers. Maybe a dozen."

"Fuck." Hawke rubbed his chin idly, leaning an elbow on the car door as he drove toward a pharmacy closer to the estate. A dozen men. Whoever it was knew how capable Fenris and Carver were. "So they tied you up and blindfolded you?"

"They were professional. Didn't talk. Carver tried to goad them but they hit him, knocked him out. I remember the van. White, unmarked. Didn't see any plates. They shot me while I was still in the back of it before cutting my bonds and tossing me out on the street."

"They didn't say anything?" Hawke asked, glancing over at him before turning back to the road.

"No. Not a threat, not a warning. Just drove off. They didn't want me, just Carver."

Hawke drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel, thinking. If a member of his family was threatened, it usually came with a price. Someone tried to take Bethany when they were little. Hawke remembered the ransom note and shoddy video recording. His father took care of it, and that was the last time anyone had gone after the Hawke children again. But Isabela and her girls were always getting hassled. He took care of it, but the Pearl, for all its class, was in a bad neighborhood. They were just petty criminals. Thugs who thought it was funny to harass a whore. This smacked of something much larger, much more ominous. Who would be stupid enough to make a move against him?

He pulled into the lot of the pharmacy. "You need anything?"

Fenris waved a hand. Hesitant to leave him alone, but doubting anyone would snatch Fenris away in the middle of the day in a crowded parking lot, Hawke went in to fill the prescription. While he waited, he sent Varric a text with this new information. There was only one group really big enough to spread out their fingers to Kirkwall and cause a problem, but he had an understanding with the Qunari. Kirkwall and most of the Free Marches were off limits. Their Arishok – the head of that cultish family – had struck a deal with him when Hawke first took over.

Still, it didn't hurt to send him a message just to see. He'd do it later, possibly get Varric to do it. Or Fenris, since he was on good terms with him. The nuances of conversation with the Qunari were lost on Hawke and he didn't want to inadvertently offend them. Besides, he had enough to think about. Paying for the prescription and a green apple tea, he got back in the car, tossing both to Fenris. Fenris didn't voice his thanks; the small curl of his lip was enough.

"You're on bed rest," Hawke said. "I'll get Bethany to look after you."

The gratitude was short-lived. "I'm going with you to get Carver."

"Oh that'll be brilliant," Hawke snapped. "What are you going to do, bleed on them?"

Fenris didn't respond, knowing Hawke was right. They fell into silence as Hawke drove them back to the estate, hoping Sebastian would be ready for a fight.


	8. Chapter 8

With Fenris safely tucked in bed with his laptop and remote for the TV, Hawke made for the kitchen for a quick meal before having to deal with Sebastian. He loved the estate, though they hadn't moved in until after his grandfather died. Aristide Amell worked tentatively with Malcolm Hawke before he passed, and named him head of the family on his death bed. Malcolm wasted no time moving his wife and kids back to the luxurious mansion. He said it was his just reward after dealing with Aristide's shit for so long. Many people agreed with him, even his wife. Those who didn't kept quiet. Gamlen, Aristide's son, was the only dissenter stupid enough to open his mouth.

"Uncle," Hawke said tersely, entering the kitchen. "Didn't know you were coming over today."

Gamlen stood, pulling a beer from the refrigerator. "And why not? It's my house too."

Hawke didn't feel like having this conversation yet again. Gamlen lived in a condo in Lowtown, bought and paid for by his sister Leandra and maintained once a week by Orana, Hawke's own maid. Yet inevitably Gamlen would end up at the estate at least two or three times a week to bitch about his lot in life. He didn't have to worry about a thing, lived off a generous allowance, and still came by to try and spit in Hawke's face. He learned very quickly not to badmouth Malcolm, at least not in front of Hawke. Hawke never bothered offering him back into the business. Malcolm had tried, but made it very clear that Gamlen wasn't welcome after several botched jobs. Now the man gambled and drank and threw around his last name to try to siphon out any bit of respect he could from the Lowtown gangs. But they knew better. Mostly because they all answered to Hawke.

"I'll have to remember to change the entry code on the gate," Hawke muttered, and waited for Gamlen to move before he started pulling out lunchmeat. "Why are you here?"

"If you must know, I'm visiting your mother."

"Really? Because it looks like you're drinking my beer. Before noon."

Gamlen scowled. "You listen to me, boy-"

Hawke whirled on him, and while the knife in his hand was only a butter knife, Gamlen backed up quickly. "Don't EVER call me that again. I'm not your boy, Gamlen. And the only reason you're still living is because of my mother's inexplicable fondness for you. Got it?"

"What crawled up your ass?" Gamlen said, though his voice had lost its edge.

"Family meeting?"

Hawke narrowed his eyes, holding Gamlen's gaze a second longer before turning to greet his sister. She looked tired, her oversized sweatshirt hanging off a bare shoulder, pulled low over plaid boxers. Her hair was mussed and she looked as if she'd just woken up. Hawke tossed the knife on the counter island and crossed to hug her. Though not usually outwardly affectionate, especially when there were others around to see, his baby sister was a weakness.

Bethany hooked her arms around his neck and pressed her face to his chest, sighing heavily. "You didn't call back."

"I'm sorry. Had to get Fenris out of that shithole. He's resting now. You should go see him."

"And I will, but you know what I'm going to ask."

Hawke pulled away from her, ignoring Gamlen's blatant eavesdropping, and continued making his sandwich. "If you're asking to come with, the answer is no."

Bethany glared, folding her arms over her chest. "He's my twin, Garrett."

"And you're my little sister and not trained for things like this. I say no."

"I'll tell Mother."

Hawke let out a snort of laughter. "Oh, please do. After she yells at me for losing her baby boy, she'll chain you to the bedpost to make sure you don't go running after me. You're a liability in this situation, Bethy, I'm sorry. Hate me if you have to."

"Oh I do," she shot back.

Hawke licked the mustard from the knife before tossing it in the sink. He took up his plate and a bottle of water and made to leave the kitchen. Bethany blocked him. Nearly a head shorter than he was, she could look intimidating if she wanted to. But he wasn't going to give in.

"I helped Merrill," she insisted.

"And I'm glad. And very, very thankful," he added.

"But you're going to bring her, aren't you?" she asked, her brown eyes wide and trained on him.

It used to work on him when he was younger, and it worked on their father all the time. All she had to do was bat her lashes and they would do whatever she wanted. Malcolm often remarked that she was just like Leandra, stubborn and spoiled, but he'd do anything for his princess. Hawke followed his father of course, and Bethany's first word had been, 'Gare!' and she never let him forget it.

"Actually I'm leaving her behind."

"Isabela? Or did you call that Antivan, what's-his-name? Zevran?"

"I'm never going to be able to eat my sandwich, am I?" Hawke asked.

Bethany stepped aside to let him pass, but followed him up to his office. He settled in behind the desk and she stood, arms crossed once more, looking at him.

"So?"

"Fo wha?" Hawke asked, mouth full. He opened his laptop and brought it out of sleep mode, swiping his finger to log on.

"Are you going to tell me who you're taking to retrieve our brother or not?"

Maker, but she was persistent. She might not look too much like Leandra but she had the same stubborn temperament. He let her stew a minute, checking his email, saving the files Aveline sent to be looked at later. He clicked through few more things, invitations to charity events and parties and people asking for donations.

"My backup will be here in a bit," he said evasively.

"Will they be able to handle it?" She sounded concerned.

"Bethany," he sighed. "I haven't been doing this for this long to get tripped up now. Varric's running intel and I promise I'll be careful. If whoever did this wanted my people dead, Fenris would be a corpse and Carver would be mailed to the estate in little pieces."

"Garrett!" Bethany shrieked. "Don't! Oh Maker, I couldn't bear it."

He closed his eyes, gathering patience. "Look. He's my brother too. And even though he's an idiot, I take care of family, right? When haven't I?"

Bethany drew her bottom lip between her teeth, rocking a little on her heels. "Oh," she said finally, releasing a breath. "Fine. But honestly, Garrett. Who could have done this?"

"Don't worry about it," Hawke said, though he hated that he couldn’t answer the question. There were lots of people who wanted him dead, who would love to see him suffer. There were few who would dare to try. "Whoever they are, they're already dead. I promise you, Bethy. No one touches the family. Dad taught me that."

She nodded, finally uncrossing her arms. "I have to go tell Mother before Uncle Gamlen gets to her."

"She still asleep?"

"As far as I know. She was out last night with Guillame again."

Hawke faked gagging, and Bethany giggled.

"He's not that bad looking," she said. "Too bad his daughters are shrieking harpies. Can you imagine them as step-sisters?" She shuddered.

"Not to mention I think Carver fucked Fifi at last year's Christmas party. Awkward if they had to share a living space."

"Eww!"

There was a knock on the door. Bodahn, butler and jack of all trades, opened it. Hawke valued him, good man that he was, but really only hired him in order to keep his son Sandal close. The kid was amazing when it came to poisons and explosives. Hawke had yet to find anyone who could recreate what he could. Even Merrill didn't understand how he put it all together.

"Prince Sebastian Vael, messere," Bodahn introduced, stepping aside.

Hawke sighed. "Send him in."

He supposed he would have to finish his sandwich later.


	9. Chapter 9

Sebastian Vael, third son of the late and former head of the Starkhaven family, stepped into his office. Tanned and muscular, handsome and charming as hell and very much aware of it, he smiled politely at Hawke before turning that gaze to Bethany. His eyes raked down her body as if she was wearing nothing at all, opposed to the shapeless sweatshirt and boxers. Bethany blushed under his scrutiny but held his stare defiantly.

"Lady Hawke," he said, taking off his white coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. "As always, it's a pleasure to see you again, looking utterly gorgeous as usual." His shirt was the same shade of blue as his eyes, his black slacks perfectly pressed.

Hawke scowled. "Laying it on a little thick, aren't we, Vael?" 

He liked the man, he just didn't like him with his sister. Not that he thought that Sebastian wasn't a good match for Bethany. She could do a lot worse, and Sebastian would make sure she was provided for. But he wasn't monogamous, not in the least. And he had Chantry ties which made him more dangerous than most. If Bethany wasn't his sister, Hawke wouldn't care. After all, he knew his captains perhaps with the exception of Carver had all had a go with Sebastian. Even Fenris wasn't completely immune to the man's accent and charms. Hawke had no idea if Sebastian had ever desired _him_. Not that he would've responded to any flirtations had they been directed his way.

Bethany turned back to Hawke. "Call me later, Garrett," she said warningly before leaving.

Hawke watched Sebastian turn, blue eyes trained on her backside and legs as she left, and he let out a low warning growl.

"My apologies, Hawke," Sebastian said, taking the seat Hawke gestured to. "Your sister is a beautiful creature, but I know my boundaries. Surely you wouldn't begrudge me a bit of looking."

"As long as it's with your eyes only," Hawke said. Bethany was a big girl and he trusted that she could take care of herself. Yet there was still the overprotectiveness he felt. He'd seen people get caught up in this life and watched as it chewed them up and spit them out. He wasn't sure Sebastian could keep Bethany out of it as much as he personally had. Malcolm had never wanted the business for his daughter, after all.

"Of course," Sebastian said with a slight chuckle. "I quite like all my bits where they are, fully intact. Shall we to business?"

Hawke wondered if it was too early for a drink, thinking idly of the bottle of scotch in his drawer. He printed out the files Varric sent on the warehouse where Merrill and Bethany had tracked Carver. Every one of his family members submitted a little bit of blood that was kept in a safe in Varric's house. It was a paranoia leftover from his father after Bethany had been kidnapped. You joined the family, you had your blood drawn once a month just in case.

"Here," Hawke said, passing the files over.

"A factory in Lowtown," Sebastian noted. He frowned. "They manufacture several kinds of music boxes that produce the Chant of Light in song?"

"Everyone's got to have a hobby," Hawke noted. "Most likely a front for something, probably lyrium smugglers but it doesn't feel like the Carta's fingerprints. We're in terse agreement anyway." He had to take a large cut in the lyrium market to settle a turf war between gangs. But it made the bottom feeders happy and Hawke didn't particularly care to deal in lyrium anyway. Supplying drugs to the templars both current and former made him feel dirty like no other deal he'd ever made before. 

"Coterie?" Sebastian guessed.

"Mm. Not sure," Hawke said, sitting back, elbow on the arm of his chair, fist pressed against his lips as he thought. "They interrupted one of my shipments," he mused.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "And they're still walking around?"

"They'll be dealt with," Hawke replied offhandedly. "I was going to take care of it last night and then this whole thing with Carver…" He sighed. "They don't normally do the kidnapping thing though. Smuggling, murdering, fucking with my shipments to piss me off, sure. Whoever took Carver seems like they're trying to send me a message."

"There are easier ways to get your attention than wounding your enforcer and stealing your brother." He paused. "How is Fenris?"

"Upstairs resting. And no," Hawke added, "you can't see him."

"I'm here for business, Hawke," Sebastian said somewhat defensively. He folded the papers that Hawke handed him and tucked them into his back pocket. "I'll have my men look into the factory and we'll scout traps."

"I don't want to go blundering into this," Hawke said. "They'll be expecting me. I'm a little surprised they haven't sent me a ransom letter yet."

"Perhaps they know how easily you'll find them."

Though it wasn't spoken of in polite company, anyone who knew of Hawke knew he employed mages and counted them among his closest allies. They might even have suspected Bethany of using magic, but there was no proof, and Dumar would never question it as long as there was no hard evidence. Rescuing the man's son from the Winters had been the single best freelance job Hawke had ever decided to take. Their leader Ginnis was still rotting in a cell years after the fact.

"In which case it's definitely a setup," Hawke noted. "Do you have enough of the Flint Company behind you to do this job?"

Sebastian tutted. "It's a reconnaissance mission," he said, sounding wounded. "That's what we do best."

Hawke nodded. "Okay. How long do you need?"

"Two days if you want it done properly."

Hawke sighed, head back, gazing up at the ceiling as he thought. Two days. It was better than he could have done personally on short notice. Despite his connections, Sebastian had the coin and status, and his family was better prepared for this sort of thing. After all, it seemed a Vael cousin went missing once every few years anyway. Hawke knew they had fingers in his city; information flowed like wine at an Antivan brothel. He kept tabs on Sebastian just as Sebastian did on him, and it was hardly a secret. If they weren't strong allies, they would've torn each other apart years ago. He liked to think it was their mutual hatred of Orlais and the empress that gave them such a strong bond.

"All right," he said, relenting.

_Fuck it,_ he decided, and pulled the Laphroaig from his drawer along with two glasses. Sebastian's eyes widened, a smirk curling on his lips.

"Pre-celebratory drink," Hawke said, pouring them out.

"Is this the bottle I got you last Christmas?"

Hawke laughed. "Maker, no. I finished that months ago. But it was that good, I got another."

Sebastian leaned forward to take up his glass. "I'll have to send you another one this holiday then."

"I'll drink to that." Hawke raised his own glass, clinking it easily to Sebastian's. 

He tossed it back, feeling at least slightly better about the situation at hand. And who knew? If Sebastian proved to be successful and Carver was recovered sooner than later, he might actually give the prince his blessing to pursue his sister if that's what Bethany wanted. After all, a marriage tie to Starkhaven would strengthen the family beyond measure.

Two days. He could wait.


	10. Chapter 10

Anders frowned at the cup of coffee as if it had personally insulted him. He looked over at the line which was out the door, and then around the shop in general. If he got up now to complain about his drink, he would be the asshole interrupting a morning rush, and he might lose his seat. It wasn't worth it, even if the coffee was way too sweet for him. With any luck he'd be here another few hours and the shop would empty out and he could politely ask the baristas for a new drink. It was a new place for him, a change of environment from his apartment, and it had free wi-fi. Technically so did his apartment, but this was legal opposed to the marginally less 'Mrs. Next Door's Unsecured Network'.

He stared at the blinking cursor on the blank document. His conversation with Justice stuck with him, and while he would probably never retrieve the old printed out papers and dust them off, writing had always been a passion of his. If he was a romantic, he would've said writing was what saved his life.

 _Oh hell, Anders, you know you're a romantic,_ he thought bitterly.

It was just that these last few years he hadn't had much to celebrate or enjoy or be romantic about. But if he'd thought he'd actually be able to make a living writing, he would've chosen that profession instead of medicine. Taking a sip of the too-sweet coffee, he thought about a potential plot. Sweeping pirates on the Amaranthine Ocean? A romance of epic proportions? Combining the two? 

He thought about his manuscript, a story of a steamy, illicit affair between a teacher and his student. The student, down on his luck, ready to quit school, quit life, was compelled to say one last good-bye in person to his favorite teacher before he dropped out. His teacher convinced him to stay, encouraged him to continue. Invited him over for dinner and talked of the future and potential. Eventually of course that led to some delicious sex scenes. But after what happened, Anders couldn't bring himself to even look at the manuscript. It was nearly finished, too. But it was painful. The art of it was too close to life. Which made sense because he modeled it after his own. He closed his eyes, elbows on the table, palms pressed against his forehead, remembering the last time he tried to write and couldn't.

_"Just write, love."_

_Anders sighed, looking at the sleek black Remington typewriter. It was refurbished but worked like a dream, with a shiny finish he could see himself in. He wiped it down daily and only ever used it in his office where their cat, Mr. Wiggums, couldn't get to it._

_"You say that like it's so easy," Anders whined._

_Karl set the steaming cup of coffee down next to his stack of papers and embraced him from behind, kissing his cheek, then his neck. Anders sighed happily and leaned back, tilting his head._

_"I could provide incentive," Karl purred, rubbing his beard against Anders' cheek._

_Anders grinned. "Oh?"_

_"For every page you write, I'll remove an article of clothing. And when I'm naked, every page after that you can remove something."_

_"I like the sound of that," Anders said agreeably. "And when we're both naked?"_

_Karl nuzzled him just behind the ear before nipping the lobe and whispered, "Well then I get to make love to you on that couch right over there."_

_"Oh sweet Maker."_

Anders shook himself. There was a time when the memory would've evoked arousal and he'd find himself blushing, fully erect and ready to go. But now? Now it just filled him with sadness and longing. Karl had in fact been his senior year English teacher. And Anders had gone to see him to say goodbye. They spoke at length, Karl offering to drive him home after, and instead took him to dinner, encouraging him to eat. Karl convinced him to stay in school, to apply for loans to continue his education. He had no idea what would have happened if it wasn't for Mr. Thekla.

On the day Anders graduated high school, he left the auditorium and went straight to his teacher's classroom and kissed him breathless. They were half-naked, Anders' graduation gown hiked up, pants around his ankles, his cock down Karl's throat when Anders realized he was gone. He'd fallen so far in love it was like drowning. And he didn't care. Karl took him home that night, and the next day Anders decided he was going to move in. And he did. His father found out about it later, tried to bring charges against Karl, but after a full investigation, there was no evidence to be found of any illegal activities. Which was good, because it turned out that Karl had the gift of magic as well.

Almost ten good years they had together, Anders graduating medical school, moving on to find a job in the hospital. When their cat, well, Karl's cat, Mr. Wiggums died, they went to the shelter a few days later, still heartbroken not looking to adopt, but needing to grieve. They found Ser Pounce-a-lot. Karl argued the name, but Anders thought it was precious. He was a good cat, and one of the only things Anders still had from his past with Karl.

"Maker's breath," he sighed, rubbing his face. "Stop being so morbid."

He took up his coffee and sipped, making a face. It was useless. He'd have to either get a new cup and try again, or just pack up and leave and go back to his empty apartment. Well, empty except for Ser Pounce-a-lot of course. He had contemplated getting another cat to keep him company since he worked so much, but Ser Pounce was somewhat territorial, especially after Anders moved them from Karl's house to the apartment. Too much pain and the mortgage too high for him to pay on his salary. He sold everything he owned except the Remington, but that too was gathering dust on a shelf, no longer sleek and shiny.

Hoping that no one tried to steal his laptop, he stood and put his bag on his chair, holding his space while he got to the back of the line, which was somewhat shorter than before but still winding away from the counter. He pulled out his wallet and counted the bills and dug into his pocket for change. Enough for a small cup of black coffee, which is what he should've ordered in the first place. Mourning the loss of his four dollars that was quickly cooling on the table next to his laptop, he didn't notice right away the man who'd skipped the line.

"Hey!" said a woman two people in front of Anders. "There's a line, buddy."

Anders looked; though he had grown up shying away from confrontation, Karl had taught him to enjoy life's little moments. They made for the best stories, after all. The man turned around and Anders frowned. He recognized him. But from where?

"Keep your hair on, sweetheart."

Oh. Right. The arrogant prick who'd threatened him in his clinic two nights prior. He weighed his options, and after a beat, finally spoke up.

"You're not a special snowflake," he said loudly. "Get to the back."

Hawke rounded, opening his mouth to say something, and stopped. There was a flash of recognition. "Hey, Dr. Tired Eyes."

Anders scowled. People were looking at him now. "Mr. Hawke."

The name seemed to cause a murmuring among some of the patrons, but Anders ignored them. He knew Hawke had something to do with politics or something. Hadn't Justice mentioned the name once? He might not have been listening too closely to his brother's ranting.

"Just a moment," Hawke said with a wink. "I promise." He turned back to the counter and ordered his coffee. 

And they served him too. The injustice of it made Anders want to stalk to the front and punch the guy in the face. But the line fell silent, some of them grumbling, some of them glaring as Hawke walked past. He stopped in front of Anders, who kept his eyes firmly ahead, stepping forward as the line shortened.

"Fenris is doing fine," Hawke offered.

"You mean John Smith?" Anders sniped.

Hawke shrugged. "Just trying to be friendly. Catch you later, doc."

Anders breathed a sigh of relief when Hawke left. The person in front of him turned to give him a look before facing front again, and Anders was too tired and irritated to care what that was about. He got to the counter.

"I don't mean to be a bother, but my drink was made wrong and-"

"That guy paid for your drink," the cashier said, snapping her gum, looking bored.

"The… what?" Anders asked, confused.

"Yah, Hawke or whatever? He put a twenty down and said whatever you wanted."

Anders frowned, feeling his irritation slowly growing into anger. "Black coffee. Small," he said, slapping down the dollar and change. "Put the twenty in the tip jar."

The cashier looked at the money on the counter, shrugged, and punched in his order before scooping the bill and coins into the register. She got him a cup of black coffee, which he took, feeling his anger increasing.

"Next," she called, leaning around him.

Anders returned to his table, seething.

How dare he? Did he think he was making up for the threats he made at the clinic? Thanking him for saving a man's life? He owed Anders nothing and Anders didn't want to owe him anything. As far as he was concerned, that was the first and last time he'd ever wanted to run into someone like that. He stared at the screen, but was too angry now to write, so he packed up and headed out, finally taking a sip of his black coffee.

It was burnt.


	11. Chapter 11

Hawke swirled the amber liquid in the glass, ice clinking against the sides. He normally didn't drink it that way, and Sebastian, a connoisseur of fine whiskies, would be horrified to see it. But Sebastian wasn't there, nor had he called Hawke the entire day. Hawke knew he was given a two-day expectation and it was more than realistic, but he was getting anxious. After checking up on Fenris to make sure he was okay – he was, just irritable and stir-crazy – he'd gone for a drive and ended up at a dive coffee shop. Kirkwall was large, and with all the coffee shops in the entire city, he happened to walk into the one where the doctor was.

Of course he'd busied himself after, visiting Varric in his sports bar 'The Hanged Man' for lunch to catch up, then swung by Isabela's to collect payments. Most of the gangs, the pushers, the Carta and Coterie he had running deals for him all paid up to others who paid to her. It was the best place to launder money, considering how much the Pearl pulled in weekly. You could barely get in on a weekend night, and Isabela talked about expanding. Of course that was back burner now until they got this problem with Carver settled. He spoke to Bethany and kept her up on the information he had which wasn't much, and spent a nice dinner with her and his mother, except of course for when Leandra blamed him for Carver's kidnapping.

Hawke was used to that. Leandra was usually fairly supportive most of the time, and she appreciated the finer things in life. The opulent lifestyle her father and then Malcolm gave her before he died, Hawke supplied now. Most days he didn't mind. She was his mother, after all, but some days he wished he didn't have to put up with it. Not that he'd leave the life or the family. He loved just about every aspect of the business after all, and the parts he didn't like, he could assign to others. That was the best part about being the boss in the end.

But after, sitting in his office, chair turned around to look out the large window that faced the street, his mind strayed to a man with tired eyes and a perpetual five o'clock shadow. The doctor annoyed him. If he'd been someone in Hawke's organization, he would've been let go a long time ago, probably in a very violent and fitting end. There were few people in his life that Hawke allowed to talk to him that way. Varric, though he didn't often indulge, and Bethany. Oh Carver tried, irritated and jealous when Malcolm chose Hawke to run the family instead of him. It smacked of Gamlen's jealousy and Hawke was quick to stamp on it.

He'd made Carver a captain. In retrospect, it was a stupid thing to do, but Hawke's weakness was his family. Which was also stupid. Anyone could turn on you at any time. It was his job to make sure that didn't happen or, if it was inevitable, to stab them in the back before they could do it to him. Isabela was vital in sniffing those people out. After all, men talked when they had a gorgeous woman on their cock. But Carver… Maker, that had been a mess. The first few months went fine, until one drop Carver showed up two grand light.

_"Why?"_

_"Jansen said he couldn't come up with it. He tried. He needs an extra two weeks."_

_Hawke stared at Carver. "And?"_

_"And… what?" Carver asked, shrugging._

_"Are you fucking serious, Carver?" Hawke stood, grabbing his jacket._

_"Serious about what? He was light, he needs an extra two weeks. If it's that big of a deal, take it from my cut."_

_"I intend to," Hawke growled. "Get in the car."_

_"Garrett-"_

_"In the car, NOW."_

_Hawke drove through the city, avoiding traffic like a pro, winding his way to a particularly bad part of town known as The Bone Pit. Most of the gangs liked to fight there and bodies were dumped in one of the many abandoned buildings and lots. Jansen was hanging out with his crew in one of the lots, an old basketball court that was overgrown now with weeds. There were two crumbling brick buildings on either side and a chain-link fence in the back that bordered the property opposite. Hawke drove his SUV up and over the curb, heading straight for him, into the fence._

_People scattered, running in all directions. Hawke got out calmly, pulling a tire iron from his trunk. Jansen saw him coming, eyes wide, hands up, backing away._

_"Hawke! I, er…"_

_"Did you short my brother?" Hawke bellowed._

_"I swear, I was gonna pay him back!"_

_"Don't run, you cocksucker, don't you fucking run!"_

_Jansen ran. Hawke and Carver followed, ducking around alleys, leaping over fallen garbage cans. Cans and bottled littered the alley behind a seedy bar and Jansen lost his footing, crashing to the pavement. The light above the back door flickered and buzzed as Hawke approached, Jansen turning on his back, arms up to block his face._

_"Don't hit me, serah, please!"_

_Hawke hit him, bringing the tire iron down twice in a row, breaking his arm. "You shorted my brother! You useless piece of shit!"_

_Jansen was crying now. Hawke looked up at Carver, glaring. "Well?"_

_Carver frowned, but looked down at Jansen. There was a brief pause, then he kicked him hard in the side once and again._

_"Don't ever be light again!" Carver yelled. "You got it?"_

_"Y-yes, serah. Please," Jansen whimpered._

_Hawke hit him one last time with the tire iron and straightened, looking at Carver. "See? Now he definitely won't ever be light again."_

_A crashing noise made them turn, a glass bottle rolling along the asphalt. A bum, dressed in rags, was looking at them wide-eyed. Hawke reached into his coat and he saw the bum wince, covering his head. But Hawke pulled out his wallet, plucking a twenty from it._

_"Come on," he said to Carver, walking toward the bum. He threw the money down. "What did you see?"_

_"N-nothing, serah. I ain't seen nothing. He tripped."_

_"Good."_

Maybe it wasn't fair that Hawke indoctrinated Carver in that way, but Jansen was never late on a payment, and Carver built a reputation. Of course he was still under Hawke's shadow – would always be there. But he earned the respect that was given to him at least. Hawke was proud of him for that, and he thought Malcolm would be too. 

Moody now, remembering that day, he tipped back the rest of the whisky and turned back to his laptop, looking at the smiling face of Dr. Anders at a fundraiser for some charity. He had his arm around the shoulders of a man with dark hair that was tied back, a stupid soul patch on his chin. The caption identified him as 'Nathaniel Howe'. Hawke thought the last name was familiar but he couldn't place it. And he was strangely irritated with him, looking at the arm on Nathaniel's shoulder, the happy expression on Anders' face. His eyes were bright and didn't have the dark circles like they did now. He looked young in the picture.

Hawke scowled, closing the website. He had no idea what possessed him to search the doctor's name. Professional interest, maybe. The man had, after all, saved Fenris's life. At the very least, he knew his home address just in case he had to make a special visit. He lived in some rat-hole just on the Lowtown side of the border between there and Darktown. Hawke had no idea why a doctor would live there. A sense of self-satisfaction and self-righteousness perhaps, slumming it with his patients. From what Hawke knew about him, it was fitting for his personality.

He checked his phone for the fourth time that hour before pouring himself another glass of whisky. If Sebastian didn't call soon, he would break down the factory door himself, guns blazing.


	12. Chapter 12

All the factories and warehouses in the Foundry District were squat, brown, and ugly. This was one of the poorest parts of the city, where tall grey stacks belched out even darker grey clouds of smoke and the stench of fish and garbage permeated the air for blocks around. At one point, years ago, this neighborhood was bustling, full of happy workers who carried their lunches in metal pails. Then with the advent of modern technology, machines moved in, doing the same jobs faster and more efficiently and cost far less than the average laborer. Quantity of product increased, the cost to produce went down, and consumerism was steadily on the rise. Like rats, the denizens of Kirkwall clamored for cheap product, demanding more for less. But he was not a rat. He was a Hawke. He would wait for the moment to strike.

He lowered the night vision binoculars, handing them to Sebastian who sat in the passenger seat. They were waiting for the signal from Sebastian's man, who was climbing the factory wall to get a look in from the skylight. Merrill and Bethany's spell had led them here, and the Flint Company boys confirmed it. The place was trapped to hell, and Sebastian volunteered to head in first, Hawke following when it was sure he wouldn't receive a face of poison gas or a spear to the leg.

"There it is," Sebastian said, setting the binoculars aside. He tapped the speed dial on his phone, waited a second, and ordered, "Go."

There was a flash from inside the factory, windows blown out in an explosion. Hawke smirked. They weren't exactly subtle, but they got the job done. Sebastian, wearing dark blue now to better blend in with the dark, hopped out of the SUV.

"Count ninety seconds and then follow me. I'll get the front door free so you can make an entrance."

Hawke's smirk split into a feral grin. "You do know me so well."

Sebastian took off, and Hawke lost him halfway down the block. Damn but the man could move, slipping into shadow as easily as a cat. He pressed the light on his watch and watched the second hand tick down a minute and a half, then got out, long black coat flapping around his knees in the wind. He kept twin pistols in his shoulder holster and another at his back tucked into his belt, a knife strapped to his wrist and smaller one in his boot. It was more than enough artillery for this situation, though he'd been in worse and packed heavier. With any luck, he wouldn't need any of it.

The chain link fence that surrounded the factory was missing its gate and Hawke strode across the yard, kicking the wooden door open. The effect was glorious, and the six people on their knees, hands behind their heads, looked up in terror. Sebastian was standing to the side, arms crossed, flicking a knife idly between his fingers with a practiced grace that Hawke envied just a little. To match their prisoners, six Flint Company men stood behind them, guns pointed and at the ready.

"So," Hawke said, "first to spill the beans and tell me where my brother is has a one in six chance of living."

There was a brief pause before all of them started talking at once. Hawke held up a hand for silence and pointed to one.

"You with the bad lipstick. What's your name?"

"Tarohne."

He stopped in front of her. "Who do you work for?"

She hesitated. He took out one of his pistols and cocked it, holding it to her forehead. She started to shake.

"Give me a name, Tarohne, and I won't shoot you in the head."

"I… I…"

He squeezed the trigger, the gunshot echoing loudly in the barren factory. The other five startled, looking as if they couldn't believe he'd just killed her. He turned to the next man, pressing the muzzle just behind his ear.

"Where is my brother?" he demanded.

"Upstairs! In the foreman's office!"

Hawke nodded, pleased. "Good." He dropped his arm and shot him in the thigh instead. Ignoring the man's screams, he turned to the next one. "Who shot my enforcer? Skinny guy, white hair, tattoos. He was with my brother."

The man leaned forward and nodded down the line. "Him. On the end."

Hawke looked, pointing with the pistol. "This sack of shit here?"

The man nodded, the one of the end of the line looking on in wide-eyed terror. Hawke turned and crossed to him, grabbing the man by the front of the shirt and hauling him up.

"Did you do it?" Hawke asked very quietly.

"I… I had orders!"

"Oh I know," Hawke assured him. "He follows orders too. Only difference is when I tell him to kill a man? He does it. Which makes you very, very bad at your job." He pressed the muzzle of the gun under the man's ribs and pulled the trigger, dropping him quickly as blood spurted from his lips. Hawke watched him twitch a moment before putting another bullet in his head. He looked at Sebastian. "I'm going to get my brother. I want names."

Sebastian nodded, stopping the knife mid-spin and took a few steps, taking Hawke's place. He smiled, lips parting slowly, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. "I think you'll find I'm not as merciful as my friend."

Leaving him to it, Hawke climbed the stairs, stalking down the catwalk, listening to the screams as Sebastian interrogated the four that were left. He wanted a name. If there was one to be had, he trusted Sebastian to get it for him. After all, if Kirkwall's family was being threatened, chances are Starkhaven would be next. It wasn't as centrally located, but sitting on the Minanter River it was still a port city open for Orlesian trade. Once word got out that the Vael boys were working peacefully with Hawke to take down whoever dared attack them, their enemies would be foolish to try again so soon.

The foreman's door was locked. Hawke stepped back and shot the lock. With one sturdy kick, the door splintered and opened. He glanced around, spotting Carver tied to a metal chair, gag tied around his mouth. His eye was puffed and sealed shut, nose broken. He was wearing the same clothing Hawke saw him in last, only they were dirty and ragged now. A cut on his forehead was bleeding.

"Maker, you look like shit," Hawke said, flicking the knife from his wrist and slicing through the ropes.

Carver yanked the gag down. "Took you fucking long enough," he growled.

Hawke let out a laugh. "Big strong guy like you? I figured you were just taking your time getting back to us." He'd been worried, and now he was relieved, mostly because Carver was alive, in one piece, and no broken bones or worse. Not that he'd ever tell Carver that.

"Is Fenris alive?" Carver asked.

"Yep," said Hawke. "Sadly he wasn't able to come to the rescue so I had to exact his vengeance for him."

"Fuckers jumped us as we were coming out of the woods."

Hawke held up a hand. "I know. Tell me what happened after they shoved Fenris out." He paused. "You need a doctor or anything?"

Carver shrugged irritably. "Could use a stiff drink."

"All right." He sighed. He could get the story when they got home. "Come on. Sebastian's likely done having fun."

He let Carver go first, watching for any signs of internal injury or a limp. His brother was notoriously stubborn and the last thing Hawke needed was to get him home only to have him die of a ruptured internal organ. But Carver looked good, spritely almost, as he approached. Sebastian backed up, and Hawke watched with amusement and pride as Carver kicked one of the men full in the face, sending a few teeth flying.

Hawke gestured to one of the Flint Company men. "Can you get my brother home?"

The mercenary nodded, and Carver spat on the man on the ground, who was clutching his face in agony.

"Go on, Carver," Hawke said. "Try not to get kidnapped again."

"Hey, go fuck yourself," Carver shot back, flipping him off.

Hawke grinned, returning the gesture, and looked to Sebastian. "Well?"

"My boys will clean this up," he said. "We should get going before the rent-a-cop decides to play hero to find out what the screaming was about."

Hawke hopped down the last three steps and followed Sebastian out. "Tell me you got a name."

"Brekker," Sebastian said. "But from the sound of it, he's not the one pulling the strings."

"Coterie," Hawke growled. "Fuckers can't pick a side. At least it's a start. I'll put Varric on it in the morning."

He slid into the driver's seat, bucking his belt and waited until Sebastian shut his door before guiding the car out of the Foundry District. They drove in silence for a bit before Hawke gestured idly.

"So, what do you-"

The sound of screeching brakes and the crunch of metal filled the air as the SUV was broad-sided. Hawke lost which way was up as they flipped over, airbags deploying, filling the car with smoke. They slid, coming to a gentle stop against a traffic pole. Hawke groaned, suspended from his seat. The entire thing had taken fifteen seconds tops, but he felt as if fifteen years had passed. 

"Mafioso Garrett Hawke, survivor of battles galore, T-boned into a pile of jelly," he said with a weak chuckle. "News at ten. What do you think Sebastian?" he asked, hanging upside down. Silence. Hawke frowned, looking over. "Sebastian?!"

Sebastian was unconscious, blood dripping from his forehead.


	13. Chapter 13

Hawke braced himself, unbuckling his seatbelt. Sebastian was crumpled against the roof of the car, which was now the bottom. A quick assessment and Hawke realized there was no way he'd be able to get him out of the passenger side door. His own window was broken and, wincing at the broken glass and gravel, he managed to crawl out. The street was quiet, businesses in the area closed. The streetlights cast a muted orange glow against the asphalt, and there was no sign of the car that had hit them. If Hawke ever found out who, he'd tear them to pieces. Shoving thoughts of revenge aside, he felt in his pockets for his phone. It was smashed, completely useless. Swearing, he got back to his knees and crawled into the car once more, aching but largely unhurt.

It took some doing to pull Sebastian out, his face covered in blood from a gash on his forehead. His leg was bent at an unnatural angle, but otherwise he looked okay. That didn't mean he couldn't be bleeding out internally. Hawke checked for a pulse and sighed in relief to find one. A check of Sebastian's pockets did not turn up his phone, and Hawke didn't want to waste valuable time searching the wreck. Looking around the street again, he got his bearings and for a brief second, wondering why the intersection name sounded familiar. And then it came to him. 

He hoisted Sebastian up on his shoulders in a fireman's carry and staggered down the street. Businesses gave way to shoddy apartments. A few had lights on and Hawke heard the shouts of a couple arguing somewhere high above. He wasn't a religious man, but he prayed to the Maker now that he could find the building. And there it was, 930 Spear Alley. He climbed the crumbling stone steps to the stoop and yanked the screen door open. The knob of the main door turned easily in his hand and he realized that someone had propped it open. Dangerous in a neighborhood like this but it worked in his favor tonight.

The entrance hall boasted a tarnished bronze set of mailboxes and he scanned them quickly for the name he wanted. Maker, he would have to be on the third floor. And the elevator had a large "OUT OF ORDER" sign on it, the doors broken open halfway. In its prime, the apartment building might have been opulent and lush, the thick red carpet now threadbare and stained, dotted with cigarette burns. Hawke, gripping Sebastian tightly, started up the staircase. The dirty chandelier cast a sickly yellowish light as he moved, muscles aching, slightly out of breath.

He reached the third floor and walked down the hall, looking at the ugly green doors of each unit until he found the one he was looking for. The gold paint on the number thirty-five was worn and peeling and the three was hanging upside down, the top nail having fallen out. Hawke shifted Sebastian, raising a fist and pounding hard against the wood three times. Silence for a moment, then movement inside. The door opened a crack, a gold chain lock stopping it from going any further. Hawke saw half a tired face, one amber colored eye staring at him. It widened.

"Mr. Hawke?"

"Let me in! My friend's hurt!"

The door shut, he heard the rattling of the chain, and the door opened again. Hawke shoved Anders aside and walked down the short hall to the living room, carefully placing Sebastian on the frayed couch. Immediately he stripped his coat, tossing it aside and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, pressing it to Sebastian's forehead to stop the blood.

"Hawke, you can't just…!"

Hawke didn't want to argue. If Sebastian died and his brothers got wind of it, even if it was an accident, well. He wasn't sure they wouldn't blame him, and the last thing he needed was the Vael brothers looking to kill him.

"Just fix him!" Hawke snarled, looking back.

Anders had shut and relocked the door. He stood for a moment, hand on the knob. He was barefoot, wearing a pair of grey pajama bottoms, hair loose around his face. There was only a split second of hesitation before he moved into the kitchen, Hawke watching him duck down to pull out a first aid kit from under the sink.

"What happened?" Anders asked, and Hawke heard the 'doctor' in his tone.

"Car crash. We flipped," Hawke said, moving away. "What do you need?"

"Hydrogen peroxide and gauze in the bathroom. Under the sink."

Hawke hurried down the second hallway. The door on the right was halfway open, a brief glimpse revealing a bedroom with clothing strewn on the floor and a messy, unmade bed. The door on the left led to the bathroom. A claw-foot tub that had seen better days, a plain shower curtain and a window that looked out over the street. Only one of the light bulbs in the antique fixture over the cracked mirror worked when he flipped the switch. He knelt down and opened the cabinet, shoving aside cleaner and extra toilet paper rolls. He would've made a smart ass comment about the box of condoms, but he was too worried, Sebastian his priority.

Grabbing up the brown bottle and a roll of gauze, he returned to the living room to see Anders working diligently. He took the bottle from Hawke without a word and cleaned out the gash on Sebastian's forehead and pressed a gauze pad to it.

"Here, keep pressure on this," Anders said, gesturing.

Hawke did as he was told, staying out of the way as much as he could as he watched, trying not to feel too anxious. Anders ripped open Sebastian's shirt, popping buttons as he pressed his fingertips to the bruised chest. Hawke gripped the arm of the couch with his free hand, waiting.

"Broken rib," Anders muttered to himself. "Maybe two. No internal bleeding, good. Cut on the shoulder, no stitches needed." He took out a pair of scissors and cut up Sebastian's pant leg, hands now touching the large lump on his shin. "Broken left tibia needs to be set before casting. Nothing life-threatening."

His hair fell in his eyes as he leaned over, and he brushed it back behind his ear, smearing a bit of Sebastian's blood on his cheek.

"He's going to wake up when I do this," Anders said. "Do you have a belt or…"

Hawke removed his belt and handed it to Anders. Anders took it, folding it in half and opened Sebastian's mouth. He shoved the leather between his teeth, pushing back his tongue and looked up at Hawke.

"Hold him down. This won't be pleasant."

Hawke leaned over, careful not to press on Sebastian's ribcage, and held him down. Anders set the bone with a gruesome _crack_ , and Sebastian's forehead nearly collided with Hawke's chin as he came to suddenly, screaming in pain.

"SHIT! Fuck! Make it stop!" Sebastian cried out. "Andraste have mercy, what the HELL?"

Hawke grabbed his arm, holding tight, keeping him down. "Car crash," he said. "It's okay, just calm down."

Anders grabbed Sebastian by the chin, peering into his eyes. "You don't look concussed, but that doesn't mean anything right now. The wound on your head needs stitching. I'm going to call the hospital."

He started to stand but Hawke seized his arm. "No."

"Maker's breath, what is it with you and hospitals? Hawke, his bloody leg is broken and I'm not going to have him bleed out on my couch!"

"Do what you have to. No hospitals," he growled. "I need to use your phone."

"You think because you tried paying for my coffee you can just come pounding on my door in the middle of the night and demand what you wish of me?" Anders wrenched his arm away from Hawke.

Hawke ignored that. "Listen, doc, I need your phone. Just make sure he doesn't die, okay? Sebastian, you okay?"

Sebastian nodded, wincing in pain. "I'll live."

"I'm going to call your cousin and tell him what happened." Goran, at least, wouldn't threaten to rip out his intestines through the phone. "Don't you fucking die on me."

Sebastian chuckled weakly. "And let you have all the fun? I don't think so, Hawke."

Hawke looked at Anders. "Phone?"

Anders glared. "On the end table by the door," he said tersely.

Hawke clapped Sebastian on the arm and walked back down the hall toward the door. There was an end table with a lamp, and at the base was a bronze bowl with a set of keys, a phone, and a book of matches. He grabbed up the phone and opened the chain lock, moving into the hall for privacy. Calling Carver first, he made sure his brother was fine and gave him a brief rundown of what had happened, assured him he was okay, but didn't tell him where they were.

Then, with some trepidation, he punched in Goran Vael's phone number and waited.


	14. Chapter 14

Anders waited until he heard the door close before he went back to the kitchen. He opened the cutlery drawer and lifted the silverware caddy, reaching in the very back for a small metal lockbox. Replacing the silverware, he shut the drawer and debated for a moment. He hadn't looked at this box since he moved in, shoving in the back of the drawer and forgetting about it. Well. Mostly. There were some days that he thought about it a lot. On those days, he usually ended up leaving his apartment and not coming back until he was too exhausted to see straight.

He reached up on top of the fridge, standing on his toes, palm flat, searching. There was a hiss and a sudden sharp pain of claws in his knuckles and he drew back with a shout. The ginger tabby leapt from the fridge and darted down the hall into the bedroom. The flash of anger he felt disappeared almost instantly. He could never be mad at Ser Pounce-a-lot for long. He was a notoriously skittish cat, and Hawke's banging on the door and dragging in an unconscious 'friend' didn't help. If he was going to be angry at anyone, it would be Hawke. Trying again, he found it, a silver chain with a key hanging from it. He unlocked the box, hesitated, and pulled out a small baggie.

The two blue pills fell into his hand and he locked the rest away, tossing the box back into the drawer where it belonged before chucking the key up on top of the fridge. A part of him hoped to hear it slide down the back side so he'd have an excuse as to why he couldn't open the box again. He took a glass from the dish caddy and filled it with water from the tap before returning to the man on his couch, handing both to him.

"Here. For the pain."

He eyed the pills warily. "What-"

"Lyrium. Don't ask me where I got them and I won't ask you what you do for a living." He didn't mean to snap at this guy. Maker's breath he didn't even know the man's name. A sinking feeling of dread was forming in his stomach though. Twice now in the same week Hawke had come to him with two different men, both bleeding and unconscious. Whatever politics he was into, Anders had a good guess it wasn't the nine-to-five kind.

There was a brief hesitation, but the man chased the pills down with half the glass. Anders set it on the coffee table and crossed his arms, suddenly self-conscious and aware of his half-naked state.

"Sebastian," the man said. "My name. Thank you for this."

"I can stitch your head, but you still need a hospital for your leg."

"You could do it," Sebastian said. His accent was thick – Starkhaven? Tantervale? – somewhere up north.

Anders frowned, not liking the leer on the man's face. "No, I can't. I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker."

"Mage."

Anders couldn't keep the surprised look off his face, eyes widening, jaw dropping. It took him a moment to collect himself and he cleared his throat before speaking. "You can't prove anything. And even if I was, you can't threaten or blackmail me with it. There's no crime in just being a mage."

"But you are one."

_Shit._ Anders should've seen it when he was checking his ribs. A golden chain around Sebastian's neck, a pendant of Andraste at the stake. And now, adrenaline fading, he could almost feel it. This man had templar training. Not indoctrinated fully, no. But he likely could feel the latent magic that came out whenever Anders made his assessments. It wasn't something he would ever use in the hospital – that would be crossing the line into getting himself a one-way ticket to the Gallows. But no one who walked into the clinic cared. They were scared, desperate, poor. A hospital bill would've been more than they could afford, since most were scraping by just to put food on the table. Anders wasn't moonlighting at the clinic because it paid well, only a tithe from the viscount's office supplied by the taxpayers to keep it running. Which included his meager checks.

"I'm not going to use magic on you. You'll have me arrested. Or you'll hold it as blackmail."

"Blackmail?" Sebastian laughed, then winced, hand gingerly touching his ribs. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"Likely very bloody dangerous, considering," Anders shot back.

"True enough. But I'm not so heartless that I'd turn you in for using magic to heal me."

Anders scowled. "No."

The door opened and shut, and Anders heard the clinking of his keys as Hawke dropped the phone back into the bowl. He appeared at the mouth of the hallway, looking over at them.

"All right?" he asked Sebastian. "I called Varric. He's sending a car."

"Brilliant," Sebastian muttered, eyes closing. "Think I'll take a nap."

And a few seconds later, he was asleep, the lyrium taking hold of him. Hawke ran a hand through his hair and pulled out his wallet. Anders watched him, frowning, as he removed two one-hundred dollar bills and offered them to him.

"Here. For the couch and… stuff."

Anders scowled, uncrossing his arms, but he didn't take the money. He snatched up the hydrogen peroxide and other materials. "I don't need your money. I didn't take it for the coffee and I won't take it for this."

"Why are you so flaming stubborn?" Hawke growled.

"Me?" Anders asked, pointing the box of gauze at his chest before gesturing with it at Hawke. "You're the one who came into my clinic and demanded I fix up your friend without hospital intervention. Remember? You threatened me? And then the other day you tried to pay for my coffee? And now? Dragging a half-dead man into my apartment in the middle of the – And how in the name of Andraste did you get my bloody address anyway? Are you stalking me?"

Hawke stared at him. Anders threw up his arms.

"You know what? I don't care. I don't want to know. Don't tell me anything. I'm going to clean up and put on a shirt and when your other friend or whoever it is comes, you're going to take Sebastian and leave, and never come back. Got it?"

Anders didn't wait for him to acknowledge his rant, simply turned on his heel and stalked down the hall. He threw the box and the peroxide under the sink, slamming the cabinet door and turned. He stopped short. Hawke was in the doorway. Anders' breath caught his throat. Something like fear coiled in his chest, and he had a vicious realization that he was cornered. There were no other exits unless he dove out the window, three floors down.

Hawke took two steps into the small bathroom and Anders backed up, thighs hitting the sink. He reached back for a weapon and felt only his toothbrush. A second later, Hawke's mouth was crushed to his, his broad chest pressed against him, hands gripping the porcelain sink. Anders let out a surprised cry, the last thing he ever expected to happen. His eyes closed briefly as a flash of memory came to him, a scratchy beard against his lips, chin and cheeks. But when Hawke pressed a tongue to his mouth, Anders came to his senses and shoved him back.

Hawke stumbled, more out of surprise than lack of strength. Anders, chest heaving, breathing heavily, stared at him a moment. Hawke's own eyes were wide in surprise, as if he couldn't believe what he'd done. Hawke recovered first, turning and fairly running from the bathroom. Anders heard the front door open and then slam, and he was left feeling completely confused. 

Coming to his senses, he turned, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His lips were slightly swollen, pupils dilated, heart pounding. Turning on the faucet, he cupped his hands and splashed a bit of water on his face before looking up again.

"Maker's breath," he muttered. He turned off the water and walked shakily to his bedroom, and pulled on a shirt. 

Ser Pounce-a-lot stared at him from the middle of the bed, half-hidden in the blanket.

"What?" he asked.

Ser Pounce-a-lot meowed and stood before turning around to burrow fully under the covers. And as Anders returned to his living room and the unconscious almost-templar, he found himself wishing he could do the same.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for recollection of depression/suicidal thoughts/attempt and extreme grieving.

There were eighteen awkward minutes of Anders sitting in a battered armchair, staring at the unconscious man on his couch. He'd stitched his forehead and washed away the blood, but the leg needed a cast, and that was beyond him at this point. Ser Pounce-a-lot, sensing no more threat in the apartment, crawled out from the bedroom and was purring idly in his lap. Anders stroked his fur absently, an elbow on the chair, fingers tapping against his lips. Sebastian was still in his drug-induced sleep, likely having some very good dreams from Anders' experience with lyrium. He and Karl hadn't indulged often, but it enhanced their bedroom life, boosting their magical capabilities.

The lyrium he gave Sebstian was a fairly potent strain and while the Chantry usually controlled the flow of the medication, it was impossible for them to keep track of it all. Anders had stolen several sample packs from a pretty but ditzy pharmaceutical rep two months after Karl's death. She was flirting with him heavily and he regretted fucking her in the supply closet. He was in the middle of dealing with financial issues between his own debts and Karl's mortgage, reeling with grief over the loss of the man he thought he was going to marry and live happily ever after with. She gave him her phone number, and he'd nicked the boxes and never called.

Over the next two weeks he collected more and put them all out on the coffee table next to a bottle of wine. Maker, he hadn't thought about that night in a long time. But the anniversary of Karl's death was less than a week away now. In fact, since it was half-past two now, today marked the day Karl was brought into the hospital, unconscious. It was less the _day_ of Karl's death and more like the week of. He couldn't even be afforded a quick death, though the doctors assured Anders that he felt no pain. But being a doctor himself, and a mage, Anders knew better. He remembered sitting at Karl's bedside, holding his hand, stroking his hair, avoiding the tubes that kept him alive.

He closed his eyes, taking a breath. He didn't need to start crying now. Not when he had other things to worry about. He wasn't sure why he hadn't taken the lyrium that night. In too large a dose, it was lethal to mages. Non-mages would get sick, maybe hospitalized, but the chances of one of them dying from a lyrium overdose was slim. Anders calculated his weight – he'd lost so much in those weeks following Karl's death – and how many pills he'd have to take to die in his sleep. He would run a bath and just slip into a dream and it would be over. And then Ser Pounce-a-lot had jumped up, spilling the wine bottle and scattering the pills. They spent the evening together after Anders cleaned up, curled up with Karl's favorite movies, old black and white murder mysteries, crying. Well, on Anders' part anyway. Ser Pounce just licked the tears from his cheeks.

It didn't get better, it just got easier to deal with everything. He threw himself into his work, pulling double and triple shifts, forgoing sleep to offer his services at the clinic. Justice, though he never said or showed it, had been terrified of his behavior. When Anders finally crashed, unable to move from bed for three days, Justice had been there to pick up the pieces. He listened to Anders quietly, not saying anything as the whole story of Karl's death came spilling out. But one thing Anders never told him about was the lyrium. Justice didn't approve of any type of drug use. He didn't even like to drink. If it wasn't for the man's almost complete aversion to the Chantry, Anders would've pegged him for a devout Andrastian the way he operated.

A gentle knock on his door broke his reverie and he eased Ser Pounce-a-lot from his lap, ignoring the irritated _mrowr!_ and walked slowly to the door. He looked through the peephole and frowned. It was the short blond man Anders had seen with Hawke the night at the clinic. Unlocking the door, he opened it, and the man nodded, tight-lipped, looking apologetic.

"Varric Tethras at your service," he said with a slight bow. His Antivan suit likely cost more than everything Anders owned and then some. "I understand you're in the company of an associate of mine, Sebastian."

"That's one way of putting it," Anders sighed. He stepped aside. "Come in," he said, defeated.

Varric stepped in, looking around quickly, eyes taking in everything in one sweep. "Sorry for the inconvenience," he said, and sounded it. "We'll be out of your way in just a bit."

Two more men followed Varric in, carrying a stretcher, and with the skill of any trained medical personnel, transferred him from the couch. They carried him out without a word. Varric glanced around once more before addressing Anders.

"We can have the couch cleaned or replaced," he offered. "As an apology for my friend's… impulsiveness."

"You mean his utter and unabashed rudeness?" Anders asked, folding his arms, leaning against the wall.

Varric tilted his head in acquiescence. "Definitely accurate, I can't argue that."

"He already offered to pay for it. I turned him down. I don't want any money. From any of you."

"Ah. You see, we're in a somewhat delicate busi-"

"I don't care," Anders said, cutting him off. "I don't want to know what you do. I don't need to know. I won't tell anyone anything so you don't need to bribe or blackmail or… or… threaten to have someone break my kneecaps!"

Varric looked at him intently for a moment before nodded. "Fair enough. We'll let you get on with your life then. Sorry again."

He made to shake Anders' hand, then thought better of it before simply leaving. Anders shut the door behind him, locked it, and considered shoving something heavy against it. He stared for a minute, then felt Ser Pounce-a-lot wind around his legs. Sighing, he refilled Pounce's food and water dishes and looked into the living room, frowning. There was blood on the couch, but not much. Making up his mind, he merely flipped the cushion over.

"Good enough," was his assessment.

Pouring himself a glass of wine, he settled down on the newly vacated couch and pulled his laptop from underneath it, intent on trying to do a bit of writing now that was over with. He'd been staring at the blank document, flipping between that and the internet, feeling restless when Hawke came banging on the door. Thinking of the man now, he scowled. 

"Bastard," he hissed.

Ser Pounce-a-lot bashed his head into Anders' elbow and Anders lifted his arm, pushing his laptop back to his knees to allow the cat to curl and knead. He barely noticed the claws in his thighs as he was lost in thought. Hawke had to be the most infuriating person he'd ever met, and that was including Justice. One day there were threats and the next he was shoving him up against the sink and kissing him breathless. He didn't know how to feel about it. And Hawke's look of horror after – was it because he was angry that Anders had rejected him? Hawke didn't strike Anders as a man who took well to rejection. But no, Hawke would've just shoved him back and kissed him again or threatened him or something that was equally… Hawke-ish.

"Maker, I don't even know the guy that well."

Yet he was making full on assumptions about his character. The look though, the look was more scared. Surprised. Anders thought he might have known what it was. He saw a similar look on his first boyfriend's face. Nathaniel Howe was a year ahead of him, a sophomore when Anders was a freshman. They were under the bleachers talking about… what was it? Video games? Musical theatre? Something that would've labeled them both complete nerds, and Anders impulsively kissed him. He thought Nate would hit him, but he returned the kiss and they made out for almost fifteen minutes before their gym teacher caught them.

And a few months later, Nate had to move because of his father's incarceration. Rendon Howe had been involved in some very heavy things, and even though Anders read the papers, he still couldn't quite believe them all. He later met up with Nathaniel again. They attended the same university together, but by that time, Anders was already involved with Karl and Nate was dating a woman named Velanna. Pretty, but a bit too crazy for Anders' sake. They kept in touch and still spoke on occasion. Nate had come for Karl's funeral, but refused to be a drunken rebound for Anders, and instead simply put him to bed. Anders never thanked him for that, but he thought Nate understood.

With a sigh, he closed the laptop lid. There would be no writing tonight. He would get drunk, curl up in bed and watch bad infomercials on his crappy tube TV with the stolen cable (another credit to Mrs. Next-Door). He was about to get up when something out of place caught his eye. Tossed haphazardly over an end table was a black coat. He stood, picking up Ser Pounce-a-lot and made to grab it, then frowned, realizing.

It was Hawke's coat.


	16. Chapter 16

The estate was looking more like a convalescent home now with Fenris, Carver, and Sebastian all recovering from various injuries. Hawke allowed a private physician to come and look at Sebastian's leg, wrapping it and setting a knee cast. Goran had offered to send someone to pick Sebastian up, but Sebastian, once conscious, told him under no certain circumstances was he leaving Kirkwall just yet. Despite everything, he was still committed to helping Hawke find out who'd given Brekker the order to kidnap Carver. Because, as Varric pointed out, no two-bit Coterie thug like Brekker could've organized that on his own.

By breakfast time, they'd all gathered in the living room, Leandra fussing over Carver and Sebastian. Fenris neither needed nor wanted fussing, and was sitting in one of the recliners closest to the window, looking out. Sebastian settled on the couch, broken leg up on Bethany's lap. Bethany was drawing a little picture on the cast, other hand resting on his thigh. Sebastian wore a rather pleased smirk at this, and Hawke ignored it for now. Carver, however, was scowling and shooting Hawke looks, as if he expected his brother to do or say something about the blatant flirting that was happening.

Hawke didn't care. He was in his father's recliner, staring at the large flat screen hanging over the fireplace, though he wasn't watching whatever show Bethany had decided to put on. Orana brought in a tray of pastries and made sure everyone's coffee was full, adding a bit of whisky to Hawke's. He would turn into an alcoholic at this rate, but Orana had been with him almost as long as Fenris, and they both knew his moods very well. Leandra, despite giving birth to him, seemed oblivious.

"Garrett, sweetheart," she said pleasantly, curled up against the arm of the couch, cupping her mug between her hands. "Are you going to file a police report for the hit and run?"

"No." He wasn't in the mood to talk to Aveline.

"You really should, darling. The insurance company is going to want to-"

"I said no, Mother," Hawke said evenly.

Bethany, perhaps sensing an oncoming argument, interrupted gently. "I'm sure Varric will take care of everything. He's really efficient. I'm just glad they're both okay. Can you imagine? What kind of asshole just flees the scene like that?"

"One that doesn't want to deal with a DUI," Sebastian said, pulling the blanket from the back of the couch.

Bethany, done with signing his cast now, helped him lay it out over himself. "That had to have been it, hadn't it?"

"More than likely," Sebastian sighed, settling down once more.

Hawke ignored Carver's pointed stare at him as Bethany's hand disappeared under the blanket. As far as he was concerned, if Bethany wanted to help ease Sebastian's recovery process, he wasn't going to stop her. Sebastian had earned a little tender loving care for his troubles. Not that he personally felt guilty for putting Sebastian in that position in the first place. The idiot should've been wearing his seatbelt. Unable to handle it, Carver stood up.

"Going to call Peaches."

Leandra frowned. "You know I don't like you hanging around that girl."

"Mother," Carver sighed exasperatedly. "I'm not a child anymore."

"She's low-class, dear."

Hawke flinched almost imperceptibly. Fenris caught the motion, and turned his head slightly toward Hawke, but his eyes were still on the window.

"Why don't you call Babette or-"

"Because she's a bitch," Hawke said suddenly. "Peaches is sweet. Carver can fuck whoever he wants."

Perhaps it was his calm tone juxtaposed with the harsh words, but everyone seemed a bit surprised. Carver, likely because he wasn't used to a vote of confidence from his brother. Leandra, because she disliked being overruled by her own son. Carver looked like he was going to say something, perhaps thank him, but said nothing as he left the room. Leandra huffed.

"Garrett, you know I don't like it when you use language like-"

"Fuck," Hawke said simply.

Bethany giggled, and Sebastian hid a smile. Leandra looked scandalized.

"Garrett, what's gotten into you?"

"It's my fucking house, Mother," he continued in the same calm tone, dragging his eyes away from the television. "And I can sure as shit swear in my own motherfucking living room if I god damn well please."

Bethany was turning red now, drawing her legs up underneath her, scooting closer to Sebastian surreptitiously as she tried to hide her laughter.

Leandra sputtered. "Well, I… I…"

Hawke stood up. "Fenris."

Fenris looked up, eyebrow arched.

"Coming?"

Fenris didn't ask where, he just took up the cane by the chair and limped after Hawke. Hawke ignored his mother's admonishments, but caught Sebastian's, "He's recovering quickly," as he led Fenris to the kitchen.

"You are," Hawke mused.

"Am?"

"Recovering quickly. Bullet wound to the stomach."

Fenris frowned. "Possibly the brandings."

Hawke hated talking about them, though they came in handy. Fenris wasn't a mage, but had served the Magisters and apparently they thought it would be a good idea to shove lyrium into his skin. It was a wonder Fenris hadn't died. Hawke hated the Tevinter cultish group. It wasn't that they were mages – he didn't have a problem with that. More because they flaunted their power. And because they tried every so often to bring Fenris back to them. The last time, Hawke had sent the assassin's head back in a bowling ball bag to not-so-gently remind them that Fenris was his family now.

He shrugged at the explanation. It was the only thing that made sense. "We're going shopping," he said, holding the door to the garage open for him.

"Shopping?" Fenris asked with a raised eyebrow. He didn't sound pleased.

"I could leave you here with Carver sulking and Bethany jacking Sebastian off under the blanket while my mother talks about the de Launcet's new fountain that looks like a naked baby."

Fenris grunted. "Shopping it is."

The Escalade was a twisted wreck; Varric texted Hawke near dawn to let him know they had it towed and he'd get any personal effects before it was crunched into a tiny metal box. It wasn't the only car Hawke owned, not by a long shot, but it had been his favorite. His second choice was a much less modest grey Corvette Stingray. Flashy but not practical for the jobs he needed. Too small and purchased more as a status symbol than anything else. He bought Carver a matching one in blue with more features for his birthday last year.

They didn't speak as Hawke drove along the streets, lost in thought. He'd been thinking all night and through the morning, barely sleeping, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His mind, of course, was on the doctor. The accident was a blur, getting Sebastian to the apartment and everything that followed. Until _that_ moment. He was angry with Anders for speaking to him the way he did and had followed to give him a piece of his mind, to maybe threaten him again. But standing in the doorway, looking at Anders in that dingy little bathroom, something in himself shifted. It was uncomfortable. 

He'd never really looked at another man that way before, despite offers. Oh he knew Sebastian would've been up for it had Hawke shown interest. A few of the men Isabela employed gave him sideways glances whenever he walked in. And when he stopped by the Blooming Rose to collect from Lusine, there was that fey man, what was his name? John? Jehan? _Jethann_ his mind supplied.

"Hm?" Fenris asked, looking over.

"Thinking out loud."

He was so distracted he hadn't realized his thoughts were leaking. Did he want to fuck Anders? Maybe, yes. The kiss was… awkward. But it went beyond that. He kissed whoever he damn well wanted to kiss. Isabela was always up for a tumble, and he'd taken Merrill to bed a few times. She was a bit too slim for his tastes though, her breasts too small. Which was the infuriating thing, really. Hawke enjoyed a nice pair of tits. He liked women. Loved them. He didn't care for men. Not that there was anything wrong with it, it was just never his bag. But Anders…

Hawke was having trouble keeping him out of his head. It started perhaps the night in the clinic when Anders snapped back at him, then again at the coffee shop. Everyone always addressed him with a cautious amount of respect or in Varric's case, scathing sarcasm. Bethany might have pushed his boundaries a few times, but no one seriously ever out and out yelled at him like Anders had. And it turned him on something fierce.

"Fuck," he muttered, and pulled into the parking lot.

Fenris wisely kept quiet about his distracted state, and instead scowled. "Furniture store?"

"Need to buy a couch," was all Hawke said as he pulled the parking brake and got out.


	17. Chapter 17

Shopping with Fenris was much like shopping alone, and Hawke appreciated that. Though he honestly had no idea what he was looking for. His mother had kept the estate updated, donating old furniture to charity and buying all new sets. The only chair he refused to let her give away was his father's. The recliner had been reupholstered three times and repaired twice when it stopped reclining properly. He knew it was a horribly sentimental thing to hang onto, but he allowed it for himself in this one instance. Material possessions were just that. And while he liked the best that money could buy, respect and power meant more than things.

"I assure you, messere, this is the finest Antivan leather that you will find on the market!"

Hawke looked at the couch. Black leather upholstery, soft as anything, very subtle. His mother went for more ostentatious things, but this was much more suitable. He touched the arm of the couch, dragging his fingertips over it, and his mind drifted. Anders' pale skin and blond hair, a stark contrast to the black leather, laying back on it, eyes closed as Hawke fucked him into it. He cleared his throat and quickly thought of something else. Madame Lusine's naked, flabby breasts and ass. Good enough.

"I'll take this one," he said, and reached into his pocket. 

And came up with nothing. Frowning, he patted his other. His wallet was missing. Where had-

"Shit." He'd left it in his coat, which was in Anders' apartment. He'd have to send someone to get it. "Fenris, can you cover this?"

Fenris took out his own wallet and handed a card to the merchant. "What happened to yours?" he asked.

"Left it."

Fenris didn't ask, and Hawke didn't offer any more information. Though he felt his enforcer's eyes upon him as he gave the address for the couch as he paid for delivery of the new and removal for the old.

"What?" Hawke asked as they got back in the car.

"You don't often buy furniture."

Hawke knew there was more he wanted to say. He gritted his teeth. Fenris was a friend, but he sure as hell didn't owe him an explanation. If he wanted to buy a couch, he would buy a damn couch. And if he wanted to call his men to make sure the couch got delivered, he would. So he did, but he had to borrow Fenris's phone to do so, not having replaced his own yet.

"Stop staring at me like I've grown another head or you'll lose yours," Hawke said easily.

Fenris sighed and turned to stare out the window instead.

_Good._

He drove them to The Hanged Man, a relaxed little sports bar in one of the nicer parts of Lowtown, of which there weren't many. Hawke pulled into an employee parking spot and waited for Fenris to limp in with him.

"Get yourself some lunch," Hawke said. "I'll have Varric comp it. Need to talk to him about my car." And his wallet.

Hawke caught Norah's eye and gestured her over. She immediately cooed over Fenris's wound and helped him to a booth near the back. Hawke smirked a little; if nothing else, her flirting would distract Fenris from the awkward couch situation and a full stomach would sate him. Hawke waved to Corff who was tending bar and headed in the back to the office, knocking briefly before opening the door and letting himself in.

"Because, Bartrand," Varric was saying, phone to his ear. He turned briefly to acknowledge Hawke, raising a hand, "I've got a lot of … S-H-I-T to deal with right now."

The reason for his censorship was clear. A little girl with blond pigtails and a cute button nose was sitting in the rolling chair with a pack of crayons and a kid's menu placemat. She was currently coloring in the alligator on the menu blue. Hawke didn't usually like kids, but he made an exception for Bianca. She was fairly quiet and usually well-behaved, and her hands were never sticky like most kids'. When she saw Hawke, her face split into a smile and she waved. He waved back, and she rushed over to give him a hug. He bent down and scooped her up, hugging her before settling her on his hip.

"Look, Uncle Garrett," she said, showing him the menu. "It's a allygader."

"I see," he said. "He must have a skin condition."

"Like sry-sis," she agreed.

"Look, I got to go. Hawke's here." A pause. "I'll drop her off at school and you pick her up."

Bianca made a face.

"Right. You too," Varric said, hanging up. "A-hole."

Hawke knew about Varric's relationship with his brother all too well. Bartrand was, with no disrespect to Mrs. Tethras, a son of a bitch. He watched Bianca when Varric was busy with business. It wasn't easy for Varric, being a single father, and the whole of Hawke's family had embraced the idea of raising her. She never wanted for love and affection from any of them, and Varric tried hard to give her a normal life away from the business. Hawke would've done the same in his shoes. Hell, he'd practically helped his father raise Bethany and keep her out of it, his mother often too busy with frivolities.

"That's a bad word," Bianca said.

"Only if you say it correctly," Varric replied. He looked at Hawke with a sigh before taking out a banker's box with an array of items in it. "Got everything from the glove compartment and console and the trunk," he said. "I saw the car. Maker's breath, Hawke, how did you even walk away from that?"

"Seatbelts save lives," Hawke said, handing Bianca to Varric so he could sift through his things.

Mostly paperwork, a gun he'd forgotten he'd stashed next to the spare tire, and two busted phones. He looked at Sebastian's, pressing the 'on' button and smirked when it lit up. Not that he didn't trust Sebastian, but he didn't get as far as he did in this business by _not_ being paranoid.

"You have a cable for this model?" Hawke asked.

Varric chuckled, shaking his head, and opened the filing cabinet, turning so Bianca couldn't see the contents. Not that she hadn't seen a gun before, but Varric tried hard to keep her innocent. He shifted a few things and pulled out a new cord still in its package and tossed it to Hawke. Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"Daddy said it fell off the back of an Orlesian truck," Bianca supplied. "And he dove forward to catch it before it hit the ground. That's why it doesn't have any scratches on it!"

Hawke smirked. _From the mouths of babes,_ he thought, and opened the package, pulling out the cable. "Give me a bit?" he asked, gesturing to Varric's laptop.

"Take your time. I have to get Bianca some chicken wings."

"I like honey mustard," Bianca informed them.

"No school today?" Hawke asked, though he knew Varric only kept her in out of trying to keep her socialized. A private tutor was affordable and Hawke offered on occasion to pay for the costs entirely. Varric did so much for him, and there were only so many Christmas bonuses Hawke could give the man to make up for it. It was easier to ply him with money and offers to help out with Bianca than it was for him to actually _say_ thank you.

"I got suspended because I punched Allure in the face," Bianca said. "She said Daddy was a sleazy bucket of slime. Do you know what a sleazy bucket of slime looks like?" She looked scandalized. "My daddy is the handsomest man in the world. Well," she added after a pause of consideration, "you're pretty handsome too, Uncle Garrett."

Hawke chuckled. "Well thank you. You know who else is handsome?"

"Who?"

"Your Uncle Fenris. He's eating lunch right now. Go say hi."

Bianca wiggled to get down at once.

"Don't jump on him," Varric warned. "He's got a boo-boo on his tummy."

"I won't!" she promised, and rushed out.

Hawke turned immediately and plugged in Sebastian's phone, making a copy to Varric's computer. While the data transferred, he looked up at him.

"I took care of the stuff at ah… Blondie's place," Varric said, waving a hand, forgetting the name. "You want to tell me why I had to smooth things over with some clinic doctor? Or maybe why you went there in the first place? Or how you knew his address?"

"Just looking out for my own interests," Hawke said flippantly. Varric might be one of his favorite people and closest advisors, but there was no way he was going to tell him about his… preoccupation with the doctor. "Besides, it saved Sebastian's life."

Varric snorted. "Sure, Hawke. Whatever you say."

"Just drop it," Hawke warned.

Varric waved a hand. "So, new car?"

"Driving the Stingray for now," Hawke said. "But I'll drop by the dealer's before they close to take a look. I liked that car."

"Mm. And this Brekker thing?"

"I'll talk to Lilley. She's got to know something. She used to run with him."

Varric wrote a number down on a post-it and handed it to Hawke. "That's her direct line. Don't call before seven."

Hawke checked his watch. He'd have more than enough time to swing by his electronics shop to get a new phone and to hit the car dealership. Running errands was a good way to keep his mind off things.

"One more favor," Hawke asked. 

"Anything for you, Hawke."

"Stop, you're making my teeth ache. Go to the doctor's place? I left my coat and wallet."

"And you can't do this because…"

Hawke frowned, turning back to look at the computer. Satisfied that it all transferred properly, he unplugged it, turned it off, and tossed it back in the box before standing and picking it up.

"I'm busy. Look, can you get someone to give Fenris a ride home?"

"Sure thing, Hawke."

Hawke ignored the amused tone, the smirk, and the raised eyebrow as he left. He liked Varric, but sometimes the man was too cunning for his own good.


	18. Chapter 18

"Oh come on," Anders muttered, turning the key in the ignition again. He pumped the gas pedal.

The engine sputtered and died. Anders took a deep breath. It was nearly ten in the evening and if he couldn't get his car started, he would be late for his shift at the clinic. It was largely volunteer work, but he'd promised Selby he'd be on tonight. After the extremely jarring early morning he had, he managed to catch a quick nap before his hospital shift, swing home to feed the cat and have a meager meal himself, and now he was on his way out again if he could get this Maker damned piece of shit to start up.

"I cannot afford to fix you," he hissed at the car. "So you better start or I'm selling you for scrap."

He turned the key again. Nothing. Not even the dying sounds of the engine. The lights on the dash didn't light up. If Anders knew anything about cars, he'd start making wild guesses as to what it was, maybe even pop the hood to look. But it would make about as much sense to him as Orlesian politics. Why couldn't a car be more like the human body? He could fix that. With a strangled, defeated cry, he dropped his head to the steering wheel, banging his forehead against it.

There was nothing else for it. He would have to call Selby or Jowan to cover for him. He could take the bus, but it was at least a mile walk to the stop and who knew how long it would take for the next one to come, even if they ran this late. Not lifting his head, he removed his phone from his pocket, frowning at the new voice message. Sitting up, eyebrow raised, he looked at the number, but didn't recognize it. Curious, he played it. A thick Starkhaven accent broke through the silence.

"Goran told me about Sebastian. Hawke, I swear on everything that is holy if you got my brother killed involving him in your petty shit, I will reach down your throat and rip your fucking intestines-"

Anders deleted the message quickly. Whomever Hawke had called likely got his number from their caller ID. Maker's breath, that was all he needed, wasn't it? Some asshole from Starkhaven tracking him down and threatening something that wasn't even bodily possible because he'd helped Hawke. He'd just managed to get the man out of his head for the first time that day too, and here was yet another reminder how Hawke had barreled in head first and disrupted his comfortable, routine life.

He snorted. Some life.

A knocking on his passenger side window made him jump. He looked over. It was Varric Tethras, Antivan suit and all. He made a 'roll down the window' motion, and Anders actually had to lean over to do it. At least, he thought, the hand-crank windows still worked even if the car's battery or engine or whatever the hell was wrong with it was broken.

"Hey Blondie," Varric said, crouching, arms folded on the door, chin resting. "Car trouble?"

Anders gritted his teeth. "Something I can help you with?"

"Hawke left his coat, apparently, in your apartment. I was wondering if I could get that from you."

Anders winced as headlights filled his rearview mirror. He had a brief flash of irrational panic and a daydream in which men in dark suits would drag him bodily from the car, demanding Hawke's coat. The panic passed quickly when he realized it was a furniture truck. At ten in the evening. He frowned.

"Yeah, sure," he said distractedly, getting out.

He didn't bother locking the door. No one would steal it, even if they could get it to start, and there was nothing in the car worth taking. After it had been broken into shortly after he moved into the apartment, his medical supplies and a couple of CDs stolen, he fell into the habit of keeping it empty except for old fast food wrappers. If the car got stolen, a police report and insurance would take care of it. Some days, he almost hoped that was the case.

He slammed the car door, looking down at his phone as he crossed to the sidewalk, picking Jowan's name out of his contacts.

"Hello?"

Anders sighed. "Jowan, hey. My car won't start. Can you take my shift? Or pick me up?"

"I… I'm sorry, Anders," he said. "I uh…"

Anders heard a female's faint, "Who is it, baby?" and frowned. Clearly he'd interrupted something. "Never mind," he muttered.

"Anders, wait-"

"Say hi to Lily for me," he said, and hung up, looking at Varric. "Sorry, just work stuff." Why was he apologizing to Varric? He didn't owe him an excuse.

"Don't worry about it, Blondie." Then, turning to the truck, shouted, "Hey, lift the end, no scratches!"

Anders looked over, frown deepening as two men carried what looked like a heavily wrapped couch from the back of the truck. They were careful in bringing it up the front steps to his apartment and inside. He had a sudden, horrible sinking feeling with a prickle of dread and realization.

"…Bit late for furniture delivery," he said guardedly.

Varric shrugged. "Special order. Do you need a ride into work? I can give you a lift."

"No, thank you," Anders said tersely. He took a step toward the door, Varric moving in front of him. "I'll get his coat for you." He didn't want to say the man's name. He wanted to get this over with so he could start his trek to the bus stop and hope Selby wasn't too pissed at him that he was going to be late.

"Look, Blondie-"

"Anders," he said, turning to glare at Varric. "My name is Anders."

"Sure, sorry, kid," Varric said apologetically. "Look, you seem a bit down on your luck. Let me give you a ride in. It's on the way back to my place anyway."

Anders very highly doubted that. Someone like Varric who kept company with someone like Hawke most certainly lived in the opposite direction, toward Hightown and the other snobby rich people. He felt a pang of guilt. Karl's house had been in Hightown. Not an affluent neighborhood, but comfortable and safe and your neighbors were more likely to invite you to a barbeque than ask you if you had any drugs on you for sale.

"I really do appreciate the offer, Mr. Tethras-"

"Varric. My brother is Mr. Tethras."

"Varric," Anders said through gritted teeth. "But like I said last night, you can tell Hawke that I don't need his – Hey! That's my couch!"

The two men were dragging out the battered old couch with the bloodied cushion.

"Oh, well. There probably wasn't any room for both couches in your living room," Varric said easily.

Anders felt the heat in his face, angry and embarrassed. "I don't need a new couch! My couch was perfectly fine!"

"I'm sure," Varric said. "The DNA soaking into the cushion gave it that je ne sais quoi. Fine, if you don't want a ride, that's okay. But I really do have to get that coat."

"Stay here," Anders ordered, and stomped upstairs. "How… how _dare_ he?" he sputtered, keys in hand. "And how did they even… my door was LOCKED. He has people breaking into my apartment. Of all the nerve…"

He opened the door and entered, slamming it behind him. And there it was, a black leather couch where his old one had been, looking horribly rich and out of place amidst the rest of his second-hand furniture. Curled up in the middle of it, traitor that he was, was Ser Pounce-a-lot, snoring. He glared at his cat before grabbing the coat in question and firmly locked the door as he left. Varric was waiting, leaning against a sporty looking SUV, thumbing through his phone.

"Hey, thanks," Varric said, taking the coat.

Anders noted he did not check the pockets, merely tossed it into the backseat. That was something, he thought. Whatever these people thought of him – and really, why should he even care what they thought? – Varric didn't believe he would stoop so low as to steal a wallet.

"You sure you don't want a ride?" Varric offered one last time.

He contemplated. Varric was, at least, a lot nicer than Hawke. Hadn't threatened him. He had the air of someone's favorite uncle, which was weird to Anders. Even though he had no way of knowing what Varric did for a living, for Hawke, he was fairly sure hosting weekend barbeques wasn't high on the list. But he was loath to take a favor, however innocuous, from these people.

"I'm sure," he said. "And tell your… people," he added, noting the truck was already gone, "that I don't want the couch. I want my old one back."

Varric chuckled, and Anders felt a bristle of irritation. "Sure thing, Blondie," he said, punching him gently on the shoulder before crossing and sliding into the driver's side. "Take care of yourself."

Anders watched him drive away. Even more irritated now, he dialed Selby's number and started his walk toward the bus stop.


	19. Chapter 19

"Anders?"

He lifted his head from the desk, not really asleep but barely awake. Four hours of sleep in the last twenty-four was doing him in something awful. He ran a hand over his face and blinked owlishly up at Lirene. After taking two buses, he'd made it to the clinic an hour late. It turned out to be no big deal, as it was about as dead as the clinic could be. He spent an hour or so of his shift reading new medical journals to keep up on the latest, giving up at the end to browse cat videos to take his mind off Garrett Maker-Damned Hawke and his stupid couch-giving peculiarities.

"Huh?"

"There's a man here to see you."

"What? Is he blond with a ponytail and an expensive suit?" Had Varric followed him to the clinic?

"No, I don't know him. Starkhaven accent."

Anders' eyes widened in panic. The man on the voice mail? Could they find him that quickly? Would they believe him when he told them he had no connections to Hawke, that he wasn't involved? He had a brief insane notion to escape out the back of the clinic and run away.

"Said his name was Sebastian."

The panic fled. "Oh," he said, heart still beating with adrenaline. "I'll be right out."

Anders would've had Lirene send him in, but being cornered in his office with no witnesses with an associate of Hawke's was not a welcoming idea. In fact, it would probably be the worst idea he had since helping Hawke out the first time. Even though he'd had little choice in the matter, considering a man was lying with a gunshot wound on his table. Raking his fingers back through his hair in an attempt to at least look halfway presentable, he got up and walked to the front, frowning to see Sebastian leaning on crutches, a petite woman at his side. It was difficult not to return her soft, genuine smile, and he looked away to address Sebastian instead.

"To what do I owe the…" Not pleasure, he thought, but he'd already started the sentence.

Sebastian saved him the trouble, hobbling forward and offering a hand. "I wanted to thank you personally for saving my life."

Anders shook his hand and let go just as quickly. "It's nothing. I'm a doctor, that's what we do."

Sebastian gestured with his head, limping a few feet away from the woman. She took the hint and moved to the corner, settling in a plastic waiting room chair. She leaned forward to pick up an outdated issue of, "Free Marches Fashion" from the coffee table. Anders noticed her knee-high boots and mini-skirt, her curvy waist and low-cut top. She would've been very pretty if not for the heavy rouge on her lips.

"Sexy, hm?" Sebastian smirked. "Hawke's sister."

Of course it was. Anders looked away, sighing. "What can I do for you?" Another stupid question, but he was too tired to be guarded.

"I wanted to talk to you about your gift."

Gift? The couch? "I…"

"You have a real talent for healing."

Oh. That gift. And who called it a gift nowadays? Most people he knew hated the idea of magic. The doctors in the hospital made it clear that if anyone was caught using it on patients they wouldn't hesitate to throw them to the templars. He couldn't be sure how many of them knew he was a mage despite it being in his file. He tried hard to keep it guarded. Since Karl died, he never really had anyone to talk to about it. Justice tolerated it of course, but Anders always wondered if his brother would throw him in a cell for using it because it was the law. He felt guilty for thinking badly about him, the only family he had left, but Justice could be unpredictable sometimes when it came to magic.

"I wanted to offer you a job."

A job? The confusion and surprise must've shown on Anders' face, because Sebastian smiled, plucking a business card from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to him. Anders took it, looking down.

**Sebastian Vael  
Prince of Starkhaven  
CEO Starkhaven Industries, LLC**

Under that, a phone number and an email address.

"I… what even could I possible do for your company, Mr. Vael?"

"I own a conglomerate of businesses," Sebastian said. "Some of which are a little… unorthodox."

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose at the euphemisms. Maker, these people threw out cloak and dagger phrases like it was a bad spy movie. "And?"

"Well," Sebastian said, letting the word roll from his tongue, "having someone like you on staff would make it easier for me all around. You'd be paid exceptionally well. Full benefits. The only caveat would be that you work for me. Only me. And you're on call six days a week."

"Oh is that all?" Anders snorted.

"It would be a luxurious lifestyle," Sebastian added. "And of course you'd have all the resources you'd need, extra staff, medical supplies, your own office and apartment. Trust me when I say you wouldn't be working all hours of the day. Just… very random ones."

Of that he had no doubt. Working overnight had never been an issue for Anders, and these people seemed to conduct most of their "business" at night.

"I admire the job that you did with Fenris."

_Fenris?_

Perhaps seeing the confusion on his face, Sebastian added, "It's not often one sees a gunshot wound victim walking around mere days after it happens."

_Oh. John Smith._ Anders caught the subtle threat. Or perhaps it was a perceived threat? The paperwork on Fenris had been filed as a mugging and reported to the police. As far as he was concerned, everything was done by the book. Only, if someone were too look a little too closely at it and realize that Fenris was indeed walking around, seemingly miraculously healed, they might begin an investigation. He'd stupidly used magic, but he couldn't let Fenris bleed out and die due to Hawke's stubbornness and stupidity. 

"I can give you time to think about it."

Anders tried to hand the card back. "Thank you, no." He didn't want to get involved with these people any more than he already was. Hell, he wanted them to forget his name altogether.

"Look, I know it's a lot to ask you to uproot your life here," Sebastian said, gently reaching up to push Anders' hand and the card back. "But think about it." His thumb brushed over Anders' knuckles, and he tilted his head slightly, a half-smirk on his lips.

Anders felt a little hot under that gaze, but it was obvious and apparent that Sebastian was doing it just to get him to say yes. Not that he didn't think the man was attractive, but getting involved in any way with a templar-trained anything was way too dangerous. And what if he angered Sebastian in the course of duty? Lost a patient? He would be tossed in the Circle faster than he could say, 'Maker have mercy, ser!'. He pulled his hand away from Sebastian and stepped back.

"Fine," he said. Anything to get Sebastian to go. "Do you need anything else, Mr. Vael?"

"That's all," Sebastian said. He raked his gaze over Anders' form, looking him up and down before smirking, and turned toward Hawke's sister. "Bethany." With a wink to Anders, he started to limp out.

Bethany tossed the magazine down and stopped in front of Anders briefly. "Thank you for helping my brother," she said.

Anders was so floored by the simple gratitude that he merely nodded. She smiled at him and followed Sebastian, and Anders wondered what the hell she saw in him. Shaking himself, he realized she was probably just being nice. But that was odd, wasn't it? He'd met Hawke, been face to face with his rudeness, his childish sense of superiority. His sister didn't seem to have any of that, and he did feel a slight… pull toward her. Staring at the business card, he realized.

Bethany was a mage.

Maker, this just kept getting worse and worse.


	20. Chapter 20

Hawke was pacing in front of the cold fireplace, flipping through a file, frowning. Aveline had texted him and he was forced to finally look at the papers she'd sent him a few days ago. It was definitely the Red Iron, but he'd thrown Meeran out on his ass years ago, kicking the whole damn gang from Kirkwall. The useful ones, the ones he thought would turn traitor on Meeran, had been offered a deal. Work for him and he'd make it worth their while. Some agreed. Others ended up in body bags in the Waking Sea. 

He hadn't killed Meeran, but the crime scene photos were making it clear that'd been a mistake. Oh, none of the men the Red Iron hit were Hawke's, not directly. Coterie that stayed on the fringe or Carta members he couldn't care less about. It wasn't as if _Meeran_ had kidnapped Carver or…

"Shit."

Closing the folder, he took out his phone to call Varric.

"Talk to me," came Varric's voice after the second ring.

"You find Brekker yet?"

"Got my men looking into it, Hawke. He might have skipped town after the Lowtown factory hit the news."

There was nothing in that factory to trace the murders back to himself or Sebastian, and Hawke knew the police were going with the, 'Gang War' angle. It made for such sensational news. The rich fuckers in Hightown were likely having a good time gossiping about the scum that lived to the south of them. Hawke, though his estate was sat directly in central Hightown, never counted himself amongst the others. His mother could pretend she was an Amell, attended the parties and handled the hobnobbing. While he would go on occasion, he was his father's son. Aristide was the gentleman Mafioso. Malcolm had less patience for people like the ones Leandra consorted with.

"The Red Iron's in town making random hits."

"Maker's balls," Varric swore. "You think it's connected?"

"Probably," Hawke said. "You ever known Meeran to be subtle?"

"As a brick to the face," Varric quipped. "Why make the random hits? Just to let you know he's back in town?"

"If Brekker's working for him, taking my brother was a much more direct message." That was more Meeran's style. 

Actually, Meeran's style was killing first and asking questions later. He had no idea why Carver wasn't a grease stain on the Imperial if Meeran was involved. There was no love lost between them. They were bitter rivals. The last Hawke had heard, Meeran and his Red Iron were battling for turf in Nevarra, up against the Winters and the Seekers. Better Meeran than him. Nevarran Seekers were a ruthless bunch of fuckers, cutting out their victims' tongues and mummifying their dead before tossing them in rivers.

"She sits and spins her web, greedy but patient. Only the juiciest of flies would do."

"Varric… what?" Hawke asked. He hated it when Varric threw out quotes. "Who said that?"

"Me," Varric said, sounding insulted.

"Can you not talk in riddles? I have a headache," Hawke snapped, irritable.

"Fine, fine. Barbarian," he added. "You know, you're perpetuating the stereotype of uneducated Fereldan dog-lords. You really should pick up a book or two."

"Fuck you, too," Hawke said easily.

"What I'm saying is that if it is Meeran, he probably only wants revenge on you. Killing Carver would just piss you off further. He wants you to follow his trail, probably to an ambush, and kill you there."

Hawke thought about this. Varric was probably right. Then again, there was really very little that Varric wasn't right about. It was infuriating. In addition to having connections that Hawke could only dream about – and thus one of the many reasons Hawke kept his advisor close – Varric was incredibly perceptibly intelligent. As far as Hawke knew, he hadn't had any formal education. After his family had been booted from Orzammar, Varric grew up on all stories, learning to read at an early age. It gave him a sixth sense into reading people. A trait he was passing on to his daughter.

"So I find Brekker, I find Meeran, avoid the ambush, cut the head off the snake."

"Like you should've done years ago."

Leave it to Varric to bring that up. "We ran together, Varric."

"Not like you to get sentimental."

Hawke snorted. Meeran had helped him out of a few tight spots. He thought he owed it to the man not to kill him. A mistake he wouldn't make twice. "Yeah. Well. I'll fix that."

"Speaking of sentimentality…"

"What?" Hawke asked, heading to his office now, as his mother came into the living room. His office was the only place he could get any damn privacy in this house lately.

"Oh come on, you know what I'm talking about."

"Varric. I am too damn tired to play guessing games."

He closed and locked his office door, settling down at his desk, and turned on his laptop. Varric's chuckle made him bristle.

"Blondie."

Hawke, who'd been about to swipe his finger to unlock his laptop, stopped momentarily. "What about him?" he asked, watching his desktop load.

"You buy the guy a new couch that's worth more than a used car. Antivan imported leather? Pretty swanky."

"So?" Hawke asked, browsing idly now. He wanted to hang up on Varric, he really did. This wasn't getting them any closer to Brekker or Meeran. He pulled up his email and hit "Reply" to Aveline's latest, fingers hovering over the home row keys.

"So. It's not like you to do shit like that. You step on people Hawke, climbing your way to the top."

Hawke scoffed. "Varric, I'm already at the top. I don't need to step anymore." Malcolm had taught him that. Nothing was more important than family, unless family tried to stab you in the back. You brought the people you loved the most up with you and they would stay loyal to the end. And if they didn't? Well, then you learned when the tides were so the Waking Sea would take the bodies _toward_ the Amaranthine, not away from it.

"Mmhm. My point stands. Why buy him a couch?"

"Uh, maybe because Sebastian bled all over the last one," Hawke said, voice coated in thick sarcasm. 

He shot back a quick email to Aveline, verifying the Red Iron hits and promising her he'd look into Meeran, stating he already had a lead. Which wasn't technically a lie, after all. He had Brekker. Or he would if Varric would get off his back about a stupid couch and get on the trail of where this Coterie slime was hiding his sorry ass.

"Right. And Sebastian bled all over it because…"

"Car crash," Hawke said. "What's your point?" He still hadn't heard any leads about a hit and run, even though he put out an alert with all his contacts for body shops in the city. If someone came in with a front end collision problem, he would hear about it.

"Right," Varric said again. "And you just happened to have Blondie's home address."

"I already told you," Hawke said, irritated at having to defend himself against this, "looking out for my own interests."

"Hawke."

"What?" he asked, flatly.

"If you want to fuck the guy, you should just get it over with and out of your system."

Hawke hung up on him. He knew it would likely lend to Varric's notion that Hawke had _feelings_ for Anders, but he didn't care. He'd already done what Varric was suggesting, hadn't he? Throwing himself at Anders like a horny teenage boy trying to get lucky. And Anders shoved him back. Normally, Hawke would've been pissed at the rejection. But it had taken him by surprise just as much as it had Anders. So he left. And since then, he hadn't thought about what he felt for the doctor. Well, outside of the bubbling carnal desire.

And Maker, that was something he didn't want to deal with at all. Anders wasn't even his type. Well, blond, maybe. He didn't mind blonds so much. But the whole scruffy-tired-eyes thing, no. He wanted someone with a little more life. Like Isabela. In another life, he might've married her. But no one would ever tie her down. Figuratively speaking.

His phone buzzed and he looked at it. There was a new text message from Varric. With a scowl, he opened it and read.

**His car broke down. He's been taking the bus.**

"Fuck you, Varric," Hawke said out loud to the empty room. He deleted the message, but a thought gripped him and wouldn't let go. Hesitating, he hit his speed dial.

"Hawke, I'm two floors up," came Fenris's irritated growl. "You couldn't knock?"

"Quicker to call. What are your plans this week?"

"Whatever you want them to be."

Hawke grinned. Maker, but he appreciated Fenris. "Good. Got some light chauffer duty for you."

"Just give me a schedule and an address."

"I'll email you," he said, and hung up, before looking at his phone. He texted Varric back a simple, three word message.

**I hate you.**

His phone buzzed a second later and he looked at the reply.

**I love you too, Hawke.**

With a smirk, Hawke turned back to business.


	21. Chapter 21

Anders sighed. "Yes. I'll hold."

He was on his lunch hour at the hospital, sitting in the break room in the corner, turning his fourth cup of coffee around on the table as he waited. The insufferable hold music filled his skull and was broken only by the advertiser's irritatingly cheery voice.

_"Save ten percent on your next delivery with purchase of any dinette set. Ask us how!"_

He took a sip, staring down at the chipped formica table. St. Elthina's was a good hospital, but he hated the higher ups. Though he was a promising doctor, he knew he'd never rise higher than he was right now. At most, he could hope for a decent raise come his next annual review, and even then, Dr. Petrice hated him on principle. He knew she was just looking for him to slip up so she could fire him or have him tossed in prison for his magic. He and Karl had often joked of ways to have her fired or killed. Nothing serious, of course. And now… now he wondered if he couldn't have it done. Would Hawke do it if he asked?

He shoved that thought away as a voice on the other end answered.

"Yes, hello," Anders replied. "Is this the manager?"

"Yes, sir, it is," came the pleasant male voice. "I understand this is about a couch. Was your delivery late? We can offer you a discount."

"No, no," Anders said. "I didn't order a couch."

"930 Spear Alley, number thirty-five?" the manager confirmed.

" _Yes_ ," Anders sighed. "That's my address, but I didn't order it. I need someone to come pick it up. And I'd like my old couch back too." If it was even possible. More likely it was in a landfill somewhere. Maybe he could check the consignment shops for something inexpensive. Or not. He didn't need a couch. He had a bed and an armchair for sitting.

There was a pause, then, "I'm sorry, sir, we don't take returns once the couch has been used."

"It hasn't been!" Anders insisted. 

It wasn't entirely a lie. He'd barely been home that morning for a quick shower and shave before having to leave again for his hospital shift. Ser Pounce seemed to like the leather and it was one of the few things he hadn't tried clawing up. But Anders certainly hadn't sat on it.

"If it's been unwrapped-"

"I didn't bloody unwrap it! Your people did!" Or Hawke's people. He couldn't be sure. Regardless, it hadn't been him.

"I understand, serah, but we can't take returns."

"I don't want money," Anders said. "I just want someone to take the damn thing out."

Another pause. "I see here it was bought by Garrett Hawke-"

"Look," Anders said sternly, "I don't care if the Maker damned Divine herself descended from the Golden City to bestow this, the holiest of couches upon me. I. Don't. Want. It. So if you could have someone come by to get it, I'd-"

"Is there anything else we can help you with today, serah?"

Anders let out a cry of frustration and hung up, head banging against the table. He would get rid of it himself. He'd throw it out on the street and let the neighbors fight over it. Who knew - maybe they would sell it in order to pay their rent. He looked up the couch on the company's website in between working his rounds. The retail price for a couch like that could easily pay six months' rent and then some in his apartment. Not that he wanted to sell it for the money. He didn't even want it.

Feeling resigned and irritated, he finished his coffee and returned to work. It was the only thing that really gave him pleasure, knowing how he could help people. Even if he couldn't use his magic here in the hospital, he was still a damn good conventional doctor. But sometimes… sometimes not even magic could save a life. His thoughts drifted as they often did to Karl, lying in bed with machines attached to him. It was this hospital, and Anders never went to that room if he could help it. His coworkers understood, at least. That was the first and last day he'd used magic within these walls. He wouldn't normally take the chance at getting caught, but this was _Karl_.

So he tried.

It wasn't enough. Karl's heartbeat hadn't changed, there was no more brain activity than there had been before. Anders wept then, knowing he was gone forever. Even if by some miracle of the Maker that he came out of the coma, there was so much brain damage that whatever made him Karl would be gone. A mindless zombie. Anders would've taken care of him, would've done anything for him. But he knew that Karl wouldn't have wanted to live that way. He couldn't fight the DNR order, didn't want to. And he was there the day they turned off the machines, the hollow flat-line still ringing in his ears.

Two days and it would be four years. Four years and he hadn't moved on, not fully. The occasional tumble with a coworker or someone he picked up in a bar hardly counted. But some nights it was too painful to go home alone. He missed coming back after a long day of work and making dinner together, Karl tickling his sides as he tried to chop vegetables. Karl turning him around and pressing him against the counter, kissing him. On more nights than not, they'd end up just ordering a pizza, dinner long forgotten in favor of other activities.

Anders knew Karl wouldn't be waiting for him when he got home the day everything fell apart. They had a conversation that morning, lazing in bed because Anders had a late shift and Karl's classes were canceled while the school scrambled for a new principal.

_"Mm, I love you," Karl whispered, pulling him close for another kiss._

_Anders shifted on top of him, returning it before pulling back. "I love you, too."_

_"I'm heading out today," Karl said, running his fingertips lightly down Anders' back, over his backside, pushing the covers down._

_Anders shivered, arching his hips, rubbing gently against him. "Where to?"_

_Karl hesitated. "Greagoir's."_

_Anders bristled, frowning. "He was fired for a reason, Karl." He didn't know why Karl was so interested in the former principal, and he was slightly jealous._

_"He's a friend, Anders. I know you didn't get along with him when you were a student…"_

_"He hated me and everything about me. He hates mages. He's made it clear. He has no problem throwing students - _kids_ \- to the Gallows."_

_"I think he's sick."_

_"More like addicted to lyrium," Anders scoffed. That had been the rumor behind his getting sacked, after all._

_"And if he is," Karl said, "it's my duty as a friend to see if there's anything I can do for him."_

_Anders sighed, resting his head against Karl's chest. "Fine. But you have to do me a favor first."_

_"Anything, love."_

_"Fuck me before I have to go to work."_

_Karl smirked, and reached into the nightstand drawer for the oil._

Anders closed his eyes, remembering. It was the last time they'd made love. At least Karl died knowing how much Anders loved him, cared about him. He'd read a lot of tragic romance novels in his time, the lovers always in a spat, shouting angrily at each other before parting ways on a misunderstanding and one of them dying, leaving the other to think they died angry. It was a load of nugshit. He and Karl had actually never fought, not about anything serious. There was no reason for it. Karl was so supportive and Anders practically worshiped the ground he walked on. They were good both in bed and out of it. Like any couple, they had their spats, but never went to bed or work angry.

Now he thought about it, their fights had almost always been started by himself. Insecure, immature teenager that he was. Karl helped him grow, helped him become not so angry at the world. And over ten years later, Anders was still appreciative of that patience and understanding. Karl was a mentor to him. He hesitated to say father figure, but he supposed it was accurate. The twenty years age difference made social gatherings awkward, but it never bothered Karl and Anders certainly hadn't cared. He was in love.

The end of his shift came with a heavy, tired realization that he would have to either find a ride from a coworker or take the bus again. At least the stop was right outside the hospital. He hesitated to ask for a favor from his coworkers, not wanting to feel indebted to them, and so he shouldered his backpack and headed outside. He was crossing the parking lot when he caught sight of a somewhat familiar figure leaning against the hood of a car. White hair, weird tattoos. It was the guy he'd saved from a gunshot wound. John Smith, no – Fenris. And he was walking toward him.

Anders fought the impulse to run. When they were a few feet away from each other, he finally acknowledged him with a nod. "Good afternoon." Well, if that wasn't the biggest lie he'd told all day.

"Hawke says your car broke down. I'm here to give you a ride wherever you need."

Anders blinked, thinking perhaps he didn't hear him correctly. " _Hawke_ sent you to give me a ride."

"Mm."

It was settled. Anders was going to move to Par Vollen and join the Qunari cult. It seemed to be the only logical answer to getting away from Garrett Maker-Damned Hawke. "Look, you tell Hawke-" he broke off, looking up. "Oh shit!" The bus was pulling away from the stop, and he was too far away to even try to make a run for it.

Following his gaze, Hawke's… chauffeur? Manservant? Whatever he was, simply looked back at him.

"So. Where to?" he asked.

Anders, hating his life, sighed, his shoulders slumped. The next bus wasn't for an hour, and he had another clinic shift that night. Resigned, he muttered his address, and followed him to the car.

 _Just this once,_ he promised himself, as he slid in and secured his seatbelt.

And he would return that damn couch or die trying.


	22. Chapter 22

Anders couldn't remember a more awkward moment in his life, at least not compared to this one. The only thing that would've made it worse is if Fenris insisted he sit in the backseat. He didn't, thank the Maker, and Anders sat quietly, looking out the window. Fenris didn't ask him for directions, and Anders didn't know if that was because he was familiar with the area, or if Hawke had made sure every one of his… "friends" had his address. Was Hawke stalking him? Having people watch his apartment? It was unnerving, like something out of a bad movie or a documentary on serial killers.

"So what do you do for Hawke?" he found himself asking out of lack of anything else to say.

Fenris made a small humming noise. It seemed to be a habit of his, as if he wasn't used to talking. "You don't want to know the answer to that."

Anders thought he was probably right. If he was a joking man in a better mood, he'd have questioned it further. But he could see Fenris all too well 'taking care' of 'business' for Hawke. Maker, even his thoughts were starting to sound like these people and their euphemisms. He would have to watch himself.

"But you talk to him regularly, right?"

Fenris's lip curled. Apparently he didn't expect conversation along with his chauffeur duties. "Perhaps."

Anders took that as a yes. "Tell him I don't want the damn couch and to have someone get rid of it. I tried calling the furniture store and they refused to take it back. They mentioned his name. Look, I really don't care for your boss's… apologies. And I really, really don't want to get involved with whatever it is that you people do." Like he didn't know, or at least have some idea by now.

"He will not listen."

Anders scoffed, arms crossed over his seatbelt. "Of that I have no doubt. Well, we can't always get everything that we want, can we? Tell him if he doesn't take it back, I'll throw it out in the street and let the stray dogs chew on it."

"He will only buy you another."

"Why?" Anders pressed. "What does he want? I already told that guy Varric I wouldn't say anything. I don't need presents to keep me quiet."

"It's just a couch," Fenris said off-handedly as he stopped for a red light.

Anders glared moodily at him. "It is not. It's a bribe. Or a threat."

Fenris looked… amused? At the proclamation. "If he was going to threaten you, you would know it. And it would not be with a couch."

And wasn't that the truth? Anders was subjected to them the first night when Fenris was brought in. "So why does-"

Fenris's eyes narrowed as he watched a car drive past them in the opposite direction. "Hold on."

Anders barely had time to react as Fenris pulled a U-Turn, blowing the red light. A car honked loudly, but Fenris ignored it, eyes on a silver BMW Beemer. Adrenaline racing, Anders gripped the door, knuckles turning white. It was entirely possible the person driving the Beemer realized they were being followed, because they sped up, weaving in and out of traffic. Anders recognized where they were heading.

"He's going to take the Imperial!"

Fenris scowled. "Hold on," he said again, and swung the car left, tires screeching.

They lost sight of the car but Fenris easily spotted them once they got on the highway. Anders thought he was going to be sick, and closed his eyes. It was like a bad dream, he thought, as Fenris pushed right past the speed limit. Anders looked at the dashboard. Way past the speed limit. Unfortunately it was rush hour and everyone was trying to get out of the city. Traffic congestion increased and Fenris was forced to slow down. So too was the Beemer. Three cars up and they'd come to a complete stop, this entire side of the highway gridlocked. Whoever was in the Beemer must not have noted the time when they chose to get off the side streets. Fenris made a low growling noise in his throat, reached across Anders to the glove compartment and pulled out –

"That's a gun!"

"How astute of you," Fenris muttered. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out.

"Fenris!" Anders called, but Fenris didn't answer.

Anders watched him with wide eyes. How did think he wasn't going to get caught shooting man in broad daylight in the middle of the crowded highway? Curiosity made him keep his eyes on Fenris while every muscle in his body was screaming for him to get out of the car now and run, run far away from this madness. Fenris didn't have to use the gun. He wrenched open the car door, delivered a punch to the driver, and dragged him bodily from it. Anders licked his lips in trepidation, heart thudding so fast he thought it would beat right out of his chest. Fenris yanked the driver's side back seat open.

"Can you drive?" he asked Anders, shoving the guy in.

Anders looked at him, jaw dropped. "Can… what?"

"Can you drive?" Fenris snarled, keeping the gun trained on the man who, Anders noticed, had a bloody nose.

Anders had half a mind to tell Fenris to go fuck himself. But really how wise was it to tell that to a man who was holding a gun to someone he'd just punched and dragged from a car in the middle of a busy highway in broad daylight? So he merely unbuckled his seatbelt, slid gingerly over the center console, and settled himself in the driver's seat. He slid it back after finding the lever to do so, and threw on the blinker. This lane would be blocked from the stopped Beemer ahead.

Fenris got in, closing the door, and Anders saw in his rearview mirror the man's terrified expression. Then he saw Fenris deliver another punch to his face, and winced.

_Shut up, Anders,_ he thought wildly. _Do not piss off the crazy man with the gun._

Fenris spoke to the man in a different language Anders couldn't recognize. It sounded Antivan. The man stuttered back a response.

"Glove compartment," Fenris said, and Anders realized he was speaking to him now.

"What?"

"Cuffs."

Oh of course. Anders reached over into the glove compartment, hesitating. What if someone found this guy and his fingerprints were all over the cuffs? He could just imagine Justice's reaction. And then Anders would have to tell him the whole story and he'd be locked up.

" _Venhedis!_ " Fenris swore. "Now!"

Anders jumped and pulled the cuffs out, handing them back. _At least the end of my life as a free man wasn't boring,_ he thought.

Fenris cuffed the man's wrists behind his back before bringing an elbow up into his face. Anders heard the man groan as he pulled the car into the right lane. Only a half a mile until the next exit, thank the Maker. He wanted to tell Fenris to stop, that he was pretty sure the guy knew he meant business. That hitting him again would prove no point. But again, Fenris had a gun. And you didn't tell guys with guns what to do. They told you. And Fenris did so now.

"Take a right off the next exit."

Anders swallowed hard, keeping his eyes straight. Another thought crept into his head. No doubt people were staring at them. What if someone reported it and identified him? He wasn't a pillar in the community, just some no-name doctor amongst all the other no-name doctors in one of the largest hospitals in the city. But he was pretty sure that if a police report was filed, they'd figure it out sooner or later. Or, oh Maker what if they had camera phones? Internet videos? His face would be all over it, and Justice would be _pissed_. Feeling sick, he pulled off the highway and made a right.

Fenris gave him directions and Anders realized they were heading into Hightown. Central Hightown, to be precise. Where were they going? Didn't these things always go down in abandoned Lowtown factories? Fenris was pulling out his phone now, calling someone.

"Hawke."

_Shit!_ The very, very last person Anders wanted to see. He listened to the conversation, Fenris pausing to give Anders a direction once in a while.

"Brekker. Yes. I found him." A pause. "Turn left at the light." Another pause. "Mm? Oh. That. I ah… will explain."

For a guy who'd just kidnapped someone from their car, Fenris certainly sounded sheepish for some reason. And Anders realized Fenris was _scared_ of Hawke. Maybe not as scared as Brekker was of Fenris, but still scared. His palms grew sweaty on the steering wheel.

"The house on the right," he ordered Anders, then, to Hawke, "Two minutes."

Anders turned into a huge drive with big black iron gates, a mechanized number pad keeping them locked. The house was… well, it was fucking huge. A perfectly manicured front lawn with an enormous brick wall that surrounded the entire estate. He swallowed hard, looking up at it. It was really like a movie. His life was being directed now by some greater force, and he didn't think it was the Maker, unless the Maker had a horrible sense of humor. And, he supposed, He probably did.

Fenris hung up the phone. "Nine-three-oh-three-five," he said.

Anders frowned, leaning over to punch in the gate code. It was only when he hit the five when he realized. "That's my address."

He looked up in the rearview mirror, catching Fenris's smirk, and wondered just what in the hell that was supposed to mean. Feeling sick and nervous and wanting again nothing more than to leap from the car and run quickly in the opposite direction, he instead pulled the car forward, shuddering as the gates clanged shut behind him.

He was stuck.


	23. Chapter 23

It was a very nice living room. In fact, the entire house was nice. Though he supposed 'nice' was an understatement. It was grandiose, opulent, disgustingly reeking of the rich and powerful. His entire apartment could have fit in the room in which he sat. The couch was not Antivan leather, he noticed, but some plush velvety fabric in a horrible pattern he swore must have come out of Orlais. The rug was thick and likely cost more than his junk of a car, and he hadn't known they'd made televisions in such a large size. Two huge windows on either side of the fireplace overlooked the front yard, and he noticed the lush flower gardens. His first thought was that he would've liked to have gotten his hands on some of the Harlot's Blush that seemed to be growing in copious quantity, and quickly shoved it away.

He did not want to be here, nice as it was.

The only thing that looked out of place in the entire living room was an old armchair closer to the fire. When Fenris told him to 'have a seat' Anders considered briefly sitting in it, but thought that would be way too familiar of him for some reason. And as he already felt extremely out of place, wearing ratty jeans and an old band t-shirt (The Heroes of River Dane – a swing group from decades ago that Karl loved), he didn't want to look like he was getting comfortable. So he paced around the room for a bit, trying to work off his nervous energy before he settled on the couch.

Unfortunately the couch was facing the television, which meant he was facing away from the archway leading into the living room. Not that he thought that Hawke would sneak up and shoot him in the back of the head… Or would he? Regardless, Anders was nervous and kept glancing around, knee jiggling involuntarily. He checked his phone for the time. Just past six. His stomach growled and he pressed a hand to it. When had he last eaten? He had a bagel that morning, but his lunch hour was consumed by making a phone call to the furniture store.

He heard someone coming down the hall and turned to look. Garrett Hawke, dressed in grey slacks and an untucked, green button down shirt, stopped in the archway. They stared at each other a moment, and Anders felt his mouth go dry. It was almost an exact duplicate of the confusing, awkward situation that occurred right after Hawke had kissed him in his bathroom. Anders reacted first this time, getting to his feet, his exhaustion and nerves and anger overriding his brain.

"Take your damn couch back!"

It wasn't the best opening line, honestly, but it was the first that came to mind. Unable to stop himself, he kept going.

"How fucking dare you? Show up in the middle of the night and expect me to help out one of your friends and then you send me a couch that by the way, I haven't used yet and the store won't take back. You have your – your chauffeur or whoever drive me home from work after you find out my car won't start and then I have to sit and watch him drag some poor man from his car on the highway and now you're holding me here against my will!" He was seething, fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.

_Shut up. He can have you killed just by blinking._

"Well?" he demanded, lowering his voice a bit, realizing just how loud he was being.

Hawke cleared his throat. "I… I'll have someone drive you home."

Anders couldn't believe this guy. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

Hawke crossed his arms, leaning against the archway frame, frowning. "Look, Fenris technically shouldn't have done that with you in the car-"

"Technically," Anders snorted. "Right, because there's an acceptable time for something like that."

Hawke sighed. "It's complicated, and you don't want to know."

"You're right. You're absolutely fucking right," Anders said, trying to keep his voice down for all the rage he felt. "I don't want to know. I don't want to know any of this. I just want to be left alone."

Anders felt his chest constrict as Hawke's expression changed to… sadness? No. It couldn't be. Someone like Hawke only knew arrogance and anger. He doubted his emotional range moved anywhere beyond that scope. The awkward silence was broken by Anders' stomach growling loudly. He blushed furiously, crossing his arms over it, and defiantly met Hawke's eye when he looked at him again.

"Did you eat yet today?"

Anders scowled. "What's it to you?"

"I could buy you dinner. As an apology for…" Hawke shrugged.

"For bringing an unconscious man into my apartment? For foisting a two thousand dollar couch on me? Or for your chauffeur making me an accessory to kidnapping and assault? Which, by the way is awesome for me considering my brother is a cop."

_Oops._

He hadn't meant to let that slip out. Too late, he couldn't take it back now.

Hawke frowned. "What precinct?"

"What? I'm not going to tell you that!" Anders wouldn't bring Justice into the middle of this. He owed his brother that much.

"Fair enough," Hawke said.

Oh, who was Anders kidding? Hawke would likely find out anyway now. Just like how he found out where Anders lived and all about his car troubles.

"I just want to go home," Anders said, feeling defeated.

Hawke nodded. "I'll get my keys."

And before Anders could protest, Hawke disappeared around the corner. Anders cried in frustration, throwing his arms up in the air and turned away. There was a shuffling behind him and he turned back quickly.

"Bethany," he said, the name coming automatically to his lips.

She looked pretty, relaxed now, dressed a t-shirt and jeans, barefoot and no makeup. Much more natural than the first time he'd met her. He was surprised, but realized belatedly that of course she lived with her brother. The estate was probably large enough to house a small army and, Anders thought, it probably did.

"I'm sorry about my brother. He's kind of a blockhead."

A blockhead. He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. "You don't need to apologize for him," he said. He calmed in her presence, feeling comfortable for the first time since getting in Fenris's car. "You… um. I feel…"

She grinned. "I can tell you're one too. It's okay. I won't say anything. I don't think my brother knows, if that's what you're worried about."

"What I'm wor-" He scoffed. "What I'm worried about is your fool brother dragging me into his shit."

"He does that," she admitted. "Have… you thought about Sebastian's offer?"

Anders had a moment of confusion, then realized. The business card had ended up in the trash almost immediately after Sebastian left. "I thought about it." He did, for about half a second before he tossed the card.

"I was thinking… it's probably not the best idea."

"Oh?" he snorted. "Look, Bethany, you're obviously a very sweet girl-"

"If my brother knew what Sebastian was trying to do-"

"Trying to do what?" Hawke asked, rounding the corner.

Bethany turned pink. "Nothing."

Hawke looked at her, eyes hard. "Bethy."

She shifted uncomfortably.

"Sebastian offered me a job," Anders said, putting her out of her misery. Sweet though she might be, the entire family obviously had issues.

Hawke turned to look at Anders, and Anders quelled under the gaze. He hadn't the first time, as Hawke threatened him in the clinic. But there was no denying that the man was somewhat terrifying. He watched as Hawke carefully tucked away whatever thoughts were going through his head and looked back to his sister.

"Don't worry."

Bethany breathed a sigh of relief, and Anders wondered what exactly Bethany didn't have to worry about. She leaned up and pecked her brother on the cheek before giving Anders one last apologetic look and left quickly. Hawke looked at Anders.

"Ready to go?"

Anders, resigned to the Maker's horrible sense of humor, followed him out.


	24. Chapter 24

Of course he had to have a great singing voice. Anders tried not to listen as Hawke sung along quietly to the radio, tapping his fingertips on the steering wheel, humming when it came to lyrics he didn't know. At least it filled the awkward silence and covered the rumbling of his stomach. Anders looked out the window, elbow on the door, fist pressed against his mouth. His traitorous thoughts kept going back to Hawke, to that man Brekker. He wondered what Brekker had done to get on Hawke's bad side. And he knew he shouldn't wonder.

"Allergic to fish?"

The question was so abrupt and so ridiculous, Anders didn't realize for a moment that Hawke was talking to him. He dragged his gaze from the window and looked at him, staring for a full ten seconds before the absurdity of it sank in.

"I'm sorry, what?" He wasn't sorry. He was irritated.

"Any fish allergies?"

For one wild moment Anders thought he was asking because he planned on dumping him in the Waking Sea and didn't want him to break out in hives while he drowned. But that didn't make sense. Hawke would sooner shoot him in the head. Or get Fenris to do it. "No."

"Good."

Anders continued to stare at him, bewildered. The song on the radio changed and Hawke flicked it off.

"Not a fan?" Anders asked, despite himself. Why did he ask? He didn't care.

"My father's favorite," Hawke said evasively.

Anders didn't ask. The less he knew about the Hawke family, the better.

"Hey," Hawke started carefully.

Anders looked away, closing his eyes, searching for patience. "What?"

"You weren't going to take the job with Sebastian, were you?"

Anders looked over at the same time Hawke did. Thankfully Hawke had to keep his eyes on the road. He'd looked… was it sad again? Maker, was he actually feeling sorry for Garrett Hawke of all people? The man could buy friends if he wanted to. Hell, he probably did. It was clear he didn't want for anything, with his big house and fancy cars and luxurious Antivan leather sofas.

"No," he said at once, realizing Hawke was waiting for an answer.

"Good," Hawke said. "Because he's really not that good of a guy."

Anders raised an eyebrow. "You… brought him to me in the middle of the night bleeding and unconscious and you don't like him?"

Hawke frowned. "I didn't say I didn't like him. He's a good friend."

"But not a good person."

"…I didn't think I particularly gave the impression that I hung around good people."

Despite himself Anders laughed. "No. You really don't."

Hawke smiled, but it faded just as quickly as it had come. "You are."

"Sorry?"

"A good person," Hawke said.

Anders frowned, looking away again. He didn't feel like a good person. If he was a good person, he wouldn't have let Fenris take Brekker. He would be on the phone with Justice right now, telling him everything that happened over the last few days. He would be doing everything he could to stop Hawke from doing… whatever it was he was doing. But what power did he really have when Hawke held all the cards?

"Where are we?" he asked, never having been in this part of Hightown, and looking for an excuse to change the subject. 

There were classy looking shopping centers on both sides of the street. Hawke pulled into a parking lot, and Anders glanced up at the sign depicting a very seductive woman eating a sushi roll. The sign read in bold cursive letters: The Blooming Rose.

"Isn't this a whorehouse?" Anders asked, before he could stop himself. Why in the hell would Hawke be taking him to a brothel?

Hawke smirked, putting the car in park. "Only if you order the happy ending. Come on."

He got out, and Anders had three options as far as he could tell. Sit here like an obstinate child and refuse to get out, get out and walk away, or go with him. Hawke walked to the front of the car, waiting. With a sigh, Anders got out and shut the door, Hawke setting the automatic locks. Maybe somewhat insultingly, Hawke held the door to the restaurant-slash-whorehouse open for him. Glaring at him, Anders strode inside.

It was… very nice. He'd never been inside a restaurant this expensive. Neither he nor Karl really cared for anything beyond the normal chain-style family restaurants. They'd blown a lot of money on their fifth year anniversary, only because Anders had wanted to see what the fuss was about, and Karl was in the habit of indulging him when he could. The portions had been small and too expensive, and they ended up hitting a fast food joint on the way home, still dressed in their best suits. He remembered stuffing himself sick on burgers and fries and then curling up with him on the couch after to watch movies until they fell asleep together.

He missed that simplicity.

The Blooming Rose, which Anders realized was a veiled euphemism for the female genitalia, was decorated with a very Tevinter-style opulence. There was a distinct dragon theme, with a lot of deep jades and rich golds. The hostess looked up, eyes widening as she recognized Hawke.

"Mr. Hawke! It's so good to see you, messere!"

Hawke smiled, and Anders felt a curl of… jealousy? No. It couldn't possibly be. Irritation, he decided.

"Your usual table?" she asked, stepping out from behind the podium.

"Please."

She led them through the dining room which was half-empty, it being still fairly early in the evening. The few patrons that were there, however, were all dressed in expensive suits and designer dresses. In his torn jeans and t-shirt, Anders suddenly felt very out of place. Had he not changed at the end of his shift and still wore his business shirt, pants and tie, it might have been different. And then belatedly he realized he left his backpack containing said clothing back at Hawke's estate.

_Haha, funny joke,_ he thought, blaming the absent Maker once more for his misfortune.

The booth was in the corner, large enough for six people to sit comfortably and still have elbow room. This was Hawke's regular table? He looked at ease as he slid in, gesturing for Anders to do the same. Anders begrudgingly sat, looking around nervously. The artwork on the walls were depictions of the countryside, generic prints that could be found anywhere, really. Across the dining room was a bar with an array of alcohol on the shelf behind it, a bartender talking to one of the men standing there. Money was exchanged, and Anders watched the man head up a carpeted staircase to the left of the bar.

_Oh,_ he realized. _Just charming._

Hawke nudged him a little, and Anders jumped, wondering when exactly Hawke had gotten so close to him.

"Do you want me to order for you?" Hawke asked. "I take it you've never been here before."

A waitress came by, setting down two glasses of water and smiled broadly at Hawke. "It's been awhile since you've come to see us, Mr. Hawke. What can we get for you tonight?"

Anders scowled, looking down as Hawke nudged him again. "Whatever."

Hawke frowned, that look of… sadness again. Anders shrugged it off, taking up his water glass and sipping from it. Hawke ordered a string of something, not half of which Anders could identify. Was Hawke speaking Tevene? He supposed it made sense that a man like Hawke would speak several languages. After all, Fenris seemed to.

"I don't mean to be rude," Anders said, steeling himself. "But I really would like to go home."

"You're here now," Hawke said. "Might as well eat, right?"

"Yeah," Anders muttered. "Look, why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?"

Anders looked up at him. Maker, he had the appearance of a lost puppy, head tilting and everything. The expression just seemed so out of place for someone like Hawke.

"Trying to buy me coffee. Getting me a couch. Giving me rides home from work. And now dinner."

Hawke shrugged, falling silent. Anders waited, but Hawke said nothing.

"Fine," Anders snapped. "Have it your way."

He could act like a petulant child too, after all.


	25. Chapter 25

Hawke scowled and took out his phone, flipping through text messages. So this was what he got for trying to be nice. He just wanted to replace the couch he'd ruined and suddenly he was the bad guy. And now Anders was glaring at him. Who the hell was he to be so rude? All Hawke was trying to do was make it up to him. If Fenris hadn't decided to tail Brekker while he was on a _job_ … But no, he took a breath. He couldn't be mad at Fenris. There was an opportunity and Fenris took it. If Anders hadn't been in the car, there would be no question that Hawke would've expected that of him. The Coterie slime had been hard to track down, and fate or chance put them both at that intersection. Fenris was acting in the family's best interest, even if meant dragging Anders along for the ride.

And Anders seemed like the sort who knew when to keep his mouth shut. But Hawke was trying to make sure. Who wouldn't want a new couch to replace that ratty old one? And a ride home so he didn't have to take the bus or walk through the shittiest parts of Lowtown? If anything, Anders should be thanking him for his generosity! But no, he had to act like an ungrateful asshole. It reminded him of the tantrum Carver threw when Hawke bought him his Stingray. All he did was try to do right by his family and they acted like this.

Wait.

Did he just include Anders in that summation?

Hawke glanced at him. Anders was scowling and not meeting his eye, looking at the rest of the dining room. Hawke frowned and looked back down at his phone, pulling up his browser and started to search. Anders said his brother was a cop, and Hawke hadn't known that. He didn't like not having all the information, which was another reason why he didn't snipe at Fenris for bringing Brekker in. Right about now Fenris and Carver were working him over to get a name. And if it turned out to be Meeran, a location.

Hawke raised an eyebrow when he found what he was looking for. Anders' brother was, apparently, Detective "Justice". How could someone like Anders be related to that guy? Anders was… he was a pain in the ass, yes, but he was good. Hawke would say altruistic. Justice was just an asshole, a thorn in his side and Aveline's at times. He went out of his way to avoid the detective most of the time, trying not to make Aveline's job any harder than it was. It was the least he could do for her to keep her happy and out of his hair. This just complicated things.

Their meal was brought and Hawke tipped a wink to the waitress. Anders glared at her retreating back, and Hawke raised an eyebrow. Anders glanced at him and glared harder, but blushed, and looked away. Hawke was so confused. Normally this was a lot easier. He would smile at a pretty girl, she would flirt with him, and ten minutes later they'd be in bed. Or his car. Or an alley. Wherever. He'd botched the first chance. Maybe Anders wasn't a one night stand kind of guy. Hawke could understand that. He'd had girlfriends before. Sort of. Isabela was the least complicated woman he knew and had decided for the both of them that they'd keep it professional. While fucking on occasion, of course.

But Anders was turning out to be more complicated than any woman Hawke had ever tried to bed. Why was he even bothering to try? Anders made his disinterest clear when Hawke kissed him. That should've been the end of it. But the doctor remained in his head, clouding his thoughts, distracting him. Hawke thought that maybe if he could have just one go, he'd be able to move on. After all, Anders was the first man he'd ever really wanted to fuck. So surely it would be like drawing poison from a wound.

"Try that," Hawke said, pointing his chopsticks. "The tuna."

Anders glared, surly and silent. He picked up his chopsticks awkwardly and Hawke watched as he fumbled with them. He was reminded of the first time Fenris tried to do the same, and just ended up using his fingers. He still didn't like chopsticks. Remembering that, and perhaps in a moment of nostalgic optimism, he took Anders' hand. Anders snatched it back as if he'd been burned.

"Maker's breath, Anders, I just want to show you how to do it."

"No, thank you," was the terse reply.

Hawke stared at him a moment, checking his temper. Then he seized his arm with one hand, ignoring the struggle, fingers biting into his wrist, and repositioned the chopsticks. Anders stopped struggling and sat fuming. Hawke let his thumb brush over Anders', not out of any conscious desire to try to seduce him. He just liked how the doctor's hands felt.

"There," he said. "Now you can try the tuna."

Anders pursed his lips into a thin line and picked it up. It was halfway to his mouth when the rice crumbled. Part of the tuna nigiri ended up on the table, the other half in Anders' lap. Hawke blinked, then laughed.

"Shut up," Anders snapped, picking the food out of his lap and brushing himself off.

Hawke put aside his chopsticks and picked up a roll with his fingers. "Not technically correct, but more acceptable than using a fork," he said, popping it in his mouth.

He watched Anders' expression change from angry to neutral to… pleased? Hawke hoped it was pleased. He licked the soy sauce from his fingers and took another. Hesitating, Anders tried again, this time with his fingers like Hawke, and Hawke smirked, seeing his eyes widen a bit.

"Good?" Hawke asked.

Anders scowled at him, turning away. Hawke nodded to himself. _Okay. No talking while eating._ He could respect that. They ate in silence, and when the plate was finished, Anders looked a little, well, forlorn was the only way to describe it. So Hawke waved over the waitress and put in a second order for a few other things.

"Oh and a bottle of… Hm. You pick, sweetheart," Hawke said, with a smile to the waitress.

She nodded with a return smile, took their empty plates and went to put the order in. Hawke wondered if Anders would be more agreeable now that his stomach wasn't so empty.

"So…" he tried again, and Anders looked at him, tired eyes and all. 

Hawke really wanted to kiss him. Not just that, he wanted to shove him back against the booth and ravish his mouth. And then what? What did you do with another man after the kissing part? Hawke obviously knew the basic mechanics, familiar with his own bits. He knew what he liked so he supposed he'd just do that to Anders. And really, how hard could it be to suck another man's cock? The girls at the Pearl got paid good money to do just that. Hawke wondered what Anders' come would taste like. And that was a thought that he never thought he would ever have.

"Stop staring at me," Anders said quietly, looking down at his lap, brushing away errant grains of rice.

"But I like staring at you," Hawke said.

Anders frowned, a little crease between his eyebrows. "Why?"

Hawke sat back, rubbing the back of his neck, unsure what to say. Luckily he didn't have to answer, their waitress bringing a wine bottle and two glasses. She poured out a measure for each of them and left the bottle, assuring them their food would be right up. Hawke sniffed, something sweet like strawberries, and he sipped, making a face. Well, that was the last time he ever let the waitress choose. He turned to Anders to ask if he wanted something else… And Anders was downing the glass.

Well.

Maybe he'd just tip the waitress extra instead. He poured Anders another glass and he drank again, a bit more slowly this time. Hawke was about to try conversation again when another plate arrived. Anders' eyes widened and he immediately dug in, a steamed bun the first thing he took up, biting into it with relish. Hawke watched, his lips slightly parted as Anders ate like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever eaten. And, Hawke reasoned, it probably was. A bit of sauce clung to the corner of Anders' lips and Hawke wanted to lick it off. Anders beat him to it, the tip of his pink tongue darting out.

_Fuck,_ Hawke thought. He was actually hard. It didn't usually take much, but more than just watching someone eat. _This is ridiculous._

He tried sipping the sweet drink again, winced a bit, and decided to stick to water. Somewhat full himself, he watched Anders eat, resorting again to looking at his phone as he sipped idly. Eventually plates cleared, bottle nearly empty, and Anders covered a polite belch.

"Done?" Hawke asked. "Did you like it?"

"It was… it was nice," Anders admitted begrudgingly. "Thank you," he added as an afterthought.

"Good," Hawke said. "I'll drive you home. You working at the clinic tonight?"

"Hum. Yes."

Hawke smirked. Anders sounded tipsy. He was swaying a bit. Hawke slid out of the booth and tossed a few bills from his wallet. The meal would go on his tab, the extra tip was for the perfect drink selection. He'd have to remember that waitress's face and request her next time he was there. Anders staggered to his feet.

"Easy there," Hawke said, taking his arm. "Lightweight."

"It's… I'm fine. Let me go," Anders said, pulling his arm away.

Hawke chuckled, watching him weave a bit, and followed him out.


	26. Chapter 26

It was the wine. The flaming wine. Later, he would blame Hawke, but right now, he was blaming the wine.

He'd gotten a ride home and it was perhaps the first time since meeting Hawke that he didn't fully despise him. Having been drunk before many times in his life, Anders knew he wasn't there yet, but he was pleasantly buzzed. So the man's smirk didn't irritate him as much as it used to. He had no idea what possessed him to invite him upstairs though. And now Hawke was sitting on the stupid Antivan leather sofa and the first thought to hit Anders was that the furniture store definitely wouldn't take it back now.

"I hate that couch," Anders said. He was leaning against the wall of the hallway, peering into the living room.

Ser Pounce-a-lot, who ran and hid when Hawke entered, emerged now and hopped up lightly on the couch. He warily eyed Hawke before turning twice and curling up on the furthest cushion away from him.

"Why?" Hawke asked. "I thought it was nice. Black goes with a lot of things, doesn't it?"

Anders scoffed. "It's not… it's not the color, Hawke. You can't just do that. Buy me a couch." But it was no longer about the couch. This man had muscled his way into his life, stomping on every social more as he went.

"It's comfortable."

"I wouldn't know. Haven't sat on it yet. Do you want a drink or something?" He bit his tongue. He should be kicking Hawke out, not inviting him to stay later. He had a shift tonight and if he dropped into bed right now, he would be able to get maybe two hours of sleep.

"Sure," said Hawke. "Whatever you have."

Anders crossed to the kitchen and opened the fridge, looking in. He glanced over the countertops into the living room, surreptitiously watching Hawke. Hawke reached out to Ser Pounce-a-lot, making kissy noises at him. Ser Pounce sniffed his fingers and approached cautiously, then allowed himself to be pet. Anders felt a surge of irritation for his traitorous cat.

_You're supposed to be on my side!_ he thought. _See if I give you any more catnip._

He pulled two bottles of beer from the back of the fridge. He didn't drink it often, preferring wine. Karl liked it though, and a part of him kept buying it out of habit and sentimentality. He kicked the fridge closed and popped the tops, letting them clatter to the counter before approaching Hawke. Hawke leaned up, taking it, and Anders frowned as their fingers brushed. Was that on purpose? Was Hawke trying to seduce him with sushi and a conveniently placed hand?

No, he decided. Hawke wasn't nearly that subtle.

Feeling awkward standing, and thinking that it would be even more awkward to sit on the coffee table, he finally sat on the couch, on the very, very edge by the arm of the chair. Ser Pounce moved into Hawke's lap, purring, butt in the air now as Hawke scratched. Anders wondered if it was too late to give him back to the pound. Not that he would really do that.

"You look like you're about to run," Hawke noted.

Anders set his beer down without drinking it and scooted back a little, but no closer. Hawke was sitting comfortably, one knee on the couch, arm draped over the back, holding his beer. The other hand was scratching Ser Pounce-a-lot.

"What's his name?" Hawke asked, when Anders didn't respond to his statement.

"Ser Pounce-a-lot," Anders said, without a hint of embarrassment, until Hawke laughed. "Don't make fun of my cat!"

Responding to his owner's snapping, Ser Pounce jumped from Hawke's lap and stretched before sauntering to his bed in the corner. He curled up, the end of his tail flicking idly. Hawke sipped his beer, then leaned forward, putting it on the coffee table. Anders was uncomfortably aware that Hawke was moving closer to him. He turned, blushing harder when Hawke's knee pressed against his own.

"I have to go to work tonight," Anders said, head swimming. He felt flushed and wasn't sure the alcohol was entirely the cause.

"So do I," Hawke replied.

Maker, he was way too close, and Anders was not nearly drunk enough to entertain the idea of… Hawke's hand was at the back of his neck now, fingers brushing the wispy hairs that had fallen out of his ponytail.

"You don't work for a living," Anders accused.

"I do so," Hawke replied, feigning insult.

"No you don't," Anders said. "You-"

He tried to resist the kiss. It was different from the first, less teeth and pain and shock and more slow and sure. Hawke's hand held the back of his neck, fingers spreading, moving up into his hair, threading through the strands, loosening his hair tie. Anders leaned back, wanting to get away from it at the same time really, really just wanting to surrender. He reached up, gripping Hawke's shirt, holding him for a second, not quite kissing back, but not pulling away. Hawke's lips parted, trying to get Anders to do the same, and Anders came to his senses, shoving him away.

"Stop!"

Hawke slid back slowly, licking his lips. He eyed Anders in a way that made Anders feel… conflicted. It was predatory, like Hawke was going to jump him and pin him and have his way with him. It scared him. But on the other hand, he thought about what giving in would mean. Hawke was the epitome of the alpha male, taking care of himself and his own while everyone fell over themselves to keep him happy so they could have his protection. He was rich, he could afford two-thousand dollars couches as an impulse buy. And while Anders wasn't quite cutting coupons yet and begging the Chantry for handouts, his meals were less hundred-dollar bottles of sake and sushi and more like boxed wine and ramen noodles.

They were completely different people from completely different worlds.

"No," Anders said, turning away from him.

Hawke _killed_ people. Or if he didn't do it, he made others do it for him. Anders couldn't abide that. It went against his very nature. He was a doctor, a healer. He wanted to save lives, not encourage this man to end them. And after the craziness of the afternoon, watching what was probably just a normal day in the life of someone who was close to Garrett Hawke, he knew he could never be that person. And Sebastian had offered him a job in the life, which wasn't quite what Hawke was offering.

What even was he offering? A one-night stand? A quick fuck and then it would be all over? They barely knew one another. Hawke certainly wasn't going to go falling in love with someone he'd just met. And from how Hawke was acting, Anders was likely the first man he'd been with. He'd seen the signs before, of course. The confusion, the hesitation. Even if Anders did let it go that far, what if Hawke suddenly decided he didn't like men? Or even worse than that, what if Hawke found out he was a mage and blackmailed him? Threw him in the Gallows?

_His sister's a mage,_ he reminded himself.

But in the end, what did that matter? Family was family. You went above and beyond for family. Well, certain family, he thought, reminding himself bitterly of his father. Justice, though. Anders would do anything for his brother. He thought Hawke would do the same for Bethany, magic or not.

Hawke reached up to brush back a lock of Anders' hair. Anders smacked his hand away.

"I said no," he repeated, quietly. "Go." And when Hawke didn't move, he added, "Please."

Hawke picked up his beer and took a long swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing. "I'll have Fenris drive you in tonight."

"No," Anders said. "I mean it, Hawke." His voice was steady and he felt horribly sober now. "I'll take your damn couch only because I can't give it back. But I don't want any more favors."

Hawke frowned. "Fine."

Anders wondered if he meant it. He did not look up at Hawke, head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees as Hawke lingered only a few seconds longer before heading down the hall. Anders held his breath until he heard the door click shut. Rubbing his face, he stood, feeling sick, and went to his bedroom, peeling off his shirt and dropping it on the floor. He set the alarm so as not to be late, and fell face first into bed. When he felt the weight of the mattress shift, he turned to look at Ser Pounce, who'd climbed up to lay curled around his head.

"Traitor," he muttered.

Ser Pounce leaned in and licked his hair. Anders sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep before he had to get up again for his clinic shift.


	27. Chapter 27

There was a crack in his ceiling that looked strangely like a dragon. If Anders squinted, he could see its tail, the fire pouring from its snout. He lay in bed now, morning or afternoon, he wasn't sure which and the clock was turned just far enough away that he couldn't read it. And it was out of arm's reach. It was a rare day in which he had neither hospital nor clinic shift. After returning home that morning, getting a ride back from Lirene, he walked around his apartment, feeling lost and unsure of himself. Ser Pounce watched him from the back of the couch which apparently was just as comfortable for him as the cushions.

Of course he couldn't stop thinking about Hawke. Last night, the kiss, it was a mistake. As was the first one. As was using magic to heal Fenris. Sebastian knew. He received a text message from him just as he was getting off shift and promptly deleted it. Possibly dangerous not to reply considering how relentless these people were. He wouldn't be surprised if Sebastian showed up on his doorstep to ask for his answer. Both Hawke and Bethany thought it was a bad idea, not that he would've accepted even without their input. Packing up and moving to Starkhaven to start a life of crime didn't sound like a particularly good idea to him. Oh, in fiction, sure. But in real, practical life?

Ser Pounce-a-lot hopped up lightly onto the mattress and carefully stepped onto his chest, lifting a paw to lick delicately at it. Anders sighed and scratched his back.

"What do you think, Pounce?" he asked. "Want to be a mafia cat?"

He entertained a silly notion of himself in a suit – perhaps one like Varric's – sitting in an executive chair, petting a cat. It was all ridiculously 'James Bond'. But still, amusing. And you never saw cat hair all over the villain's suits, did you? Anders wondered if they had people to sticky-roll them every hour of the day. Maker knew he could use that with how much Ser Pounce shed.

His phone vibrated on the nightstand and he picked it up, looking at the contact, a part of him expecting it to be Sebastian. He hated the part of himself that wanted it to be Hawke. He was a little disappointed that it was neither. With a sigh, he answered.

"Hey."

"Am I still coming with you tomorrow?" came Justice's voice, deep and full of concern.

"Why yes, dear brother, I'm doing quite well today. So is the cat. Thank you for asking," he said with tired sarcasm.

"…I did not think to ask, considering. My apologies."

"Oh for Andraste's sake, Justice, I was kidding." Anders sat up, displacing the cat and slid from bed. 

He'd stripped to boxers before falling into bed after work, and searched now for a clean pair of jeans. The room was a mess – perhaps he would clean his entire apartment today to keep his mind off Hawke. Checking his dresser, he scowled. Nothing. When was the last time he'd done laundry? And the machines in the building were on the fritz and would steal your quarters. Not that he had quarters to spare, he thought, checking his change jar. He jiggled it a bit. Three that he could see. He'd have to go to the corner store to exchange his random change for quarters and… And what? The nearest laundromat was miles away. Drag his dirty clothing onto a bus? Sit in the laundromat for hours? Well, it wasn't as if he was doing anything else that day.

"I defer to my original question."

"As your brother, I feel like I should tell you that no one talks like that anymore," Anders said, finally picking up his pair of jeans from last night. They had a spot of soy sauce near the crotch, but a long enough t-shirt would hide that. Tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear, he tugged them on. "You sound like you're from an old time film noir or something."

Maker, he could practically hear Justice pouting on the other end.

"Fine, yes," he sighed. "My car broke down anyway."

"We'll go to the florist first thing in the morning."

Justice's idea of 'first thing' was dawn. Anders winced.

"Maybe a little later. Ten?"

"I'll pick you up."

"Hey, do you think maybe I could borrow your washer and dryer?"

"Of course."

Anders smiled as he moved into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Justice would move mountains for him if he asked. Well, he'd first complain about the impracticality of such a request and then try it anyway. It was one of the reasons why Anders hated asking him for favors, but as the Maker was currently having a good old laugh at his expense this week, a little extra help from his brother wasn't uncalled for. He debated telling him about Hawke, but resisted. Justice would no doubt go breaking down Hawke's door and wouldn't that be just dandy.

They talked a bit more, Justice complaining about work in measured terms, Anders bitching about Petrice and how she ran the hospital like a dictatorship. He rolled his eyes and grinned when Justice corrected him, and tuned him out a bit when he went on about the differences in government types. The man sounded like he swallowed a law book sometimes.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and was about to settle (reluctantly) on the couch when someone knocked on his door. Frowning, he put his mug down. Before this week, a knock on his door would cause no more trepidation than anything else in his life. His landlord asking for rent that he forgot to send or a neighbor seeing if he had any drugs. It was a regular occurrence. Now… now he almost wished it was either. He looked through the peephole.

"What the… Justice, I have to go. Someone's at the door."

"I'll pick you up tonight for laundry. My shift ends at seven."

Anders frowned, though not in response to his brother. "Sounds good, I'll be ready. Thanks." He hung up and took down the chain, opening the door. "Bethany?"

She offered him a slight smile and held up a bag from the bagel shop up the street. "Breakfast?"

He was wary, looking up and down the hall instinctively, and realized it might have seemed a bit insulting. But she took it in stride, laughing a bit.

"I'm alone. Promise."

"Sorry," he said a bit sheepishly, and stepped aside.

She ducked in, looking around at the place, and Anders realized that he hadn't cleaned in a few days. He had planned to do that today after all. She handed him the bag and he set it on the counter, pulling out paper plates.

"So what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked. "Coffee?"

"Oh please," she said, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning, thumbs hooked in the pockets of her skinny jeans. "I can kind of see what my brother sees in you."

Anders blushed, realizing he was still shirtless. He had never thought he was particularly attractive. His eyes were a weird color, especially compared to Justice's vivid blue, his hair was stringy and his nose looked crooked. But he never gave much thought about his appearance when he was with Karl, as his lover always enjoyed stroking his ego. After… well, there hadn't been a point to it. Four years tomorrow and he still hadn't moved on.

"So he's been telling everyone… what?"

"Oh nothing," she assured him, taking the cup of coffee he offered her. "But he's distracted and he's never distracted. I pieced together the story from Fenris and Sebastian." She sipped. "Mm. That's good."

Apparently no one in the Hawke family knew how to brew a proper pot of coffee.

"Women's intuition?"

She laughed. "It must've skipped a generation. Or my mother is too wrapped up in herself to see that Garrett's completely in love with you."

Anders, who'd been halfway through slathering cream cheese on a bagel for her, stopped. "It's a…" To call it a 'crush' seemed a bit juvenile. Then again, so was Hawke. "An infatuation," he decided. "I'm like a shiny new toy to him. Aren't I?"

"Something like that. But that doesn't mean he doesn't like you."

"Bethany…" She was a sweet girl, he could tell that, even though he hadn't known her that long. "I appreciate what you're doing. If it was my brother, I'd do the same. But it's not going to work. I don't want it to work."

She frowned a little. "It's your choice, of course," she relented. "But would you come to family dinner tomorrow night anyway?"

He stared at her. Was the entire family so self-entitled? "I'm busy," he said flatly.

It wasn't entirely a lie. Justice was taking him to put flowers on Karl's grave. Then he usually spent the rest of the day curled up on his brother's couch, staring at whatever show Justice put on for him.

"Please?" she asked. "It's a weekly thing. Everyone will be there."

Anders sighed. He hated this. He handed her the plate, and gestured toward the living room. "Have a seat if you want." After all it was as much her couch as his, considering. He took his own plate and coffee and joined her. She seemed young. Perhaps not so innocent, but definitely young. "Your brother…" he started, but stopped. How to phrase this?

"It's only an hour or so and I promise if you get uncomfortable I'll give you a ride home right away. Please?"

"Bethany, I…" He couldn't tell her what tomorrow was. He didn't want to share that with anyone. He didn't even like it that Justice knew. "Fine." It really was just easier to give in to the Hawke family in the end.

Besides, she really was a very sweet girl.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include grief/bereavement.

Autumn was definitely approaching. The air was getting cooler; leaves were starting to change color. Anders remembered it all those years ago, how school was supposed to be just starting up again but Principal Greagoir was fired at the beginning of the year so they canceled it, pushed back classes. Easier to start late than to scramble for new administration. Lyrium addiction. It came as a surprise, and Karl felt personally betrayed. But then, he'd always been good friends with the principal. Anders thought it was a fitting fall from grace. But he mostly kept his mouth shut, listening to Karl talk about how it was ridiculous that the school would fire him, that Greagoir never showed any signs of it. That he should've been able to keep his job on suspension and an interim hired while he got help.

Anders saw a number of addicts come and go through the hospital. He listened to Justice speak of the ones that got thrown in detox after an arrest. That was before he switched to homicide. He still wasn't sure how to feel about it all. He knew how easily it was to fall into that trap, nearly becoming an alcoholic himself after Karl died. Once you started the pattern, it was difficult to break it without help. And any number of things could start you down that path. He wondered idly how one started a life like Hawke's. Organized crime didn't seem to be the normal result of any everyday trauma or trial. Then he bitterly shoved Hawke from his mind. This was Karl's day.

Justice's girlfriend Joy stayed home, and Anders was happy he didn't have to explain why. He didn't particularly care for Justice coming on this day, but after the first year, where he couldn't see straight after visiting the grave, sitting in the parking lot, sobbing into his phone to his brother, it was easier just to let Justice drive him. He never spoke about it, and he stood at the car while Anders meandered through the tombstones, stopping in front of Karl's. It rained last year when he came, and Anders ended up soaked and he'd gotten sick. And the year before that, it was irritatingly sunny.

This year, it was perfect for his mood. Overcast, extremely grey, and a bit chilly. He knelt down and removed the debris of leaves and sticks from the headstone. He used to go once a week to leave flowers, but had to stop for his own sanity. Justice called it a good step forward in the grieving process. Anders told him to go fuck himself. He placed the fresh bouquet on the ground, tucking a letter behind it. It was silly, he knew. If there was a Maker and Karl was by his side, he already knew everything that was in the letter.

"Hi," he whispered, touching Karl's name. His voice shook, tears already filling his eyes. "Oh, Maker, Karl. My life is such a mess without you." He let out a shaky laugh. "I don't know what you'd say if you saw me like this. Well no, you'd probably tell me to pick myself up by my bootstraps and keep my chin up. Because you always said stupid things like that." He smiled, blinking, a few tears falling. "I miss you. I really, really miss you. More now than ever."

He sighed and sat back, arms wrapped loosely around his knees.

"I met a guy." He paused, as if he expected Karl to answer back. "It's so complicated. More than our relationship ever was. I guess… maybe because I simply threw myself at you and for whatever reason you decided that I was exactly what you were looking for in your life. This guy, Garrett Hawke. Karl, he… he scares me. He's involved in _that_ life."

The life that took Karl from him.

Not that Karl was involved with the mafia or anything like that. He was about as straight-laced as they came. Called his mother every week until she passed peacefully in her sleep. Anders remembered going to the funeral with Karl, remembered going off on his aunt when she called Karl ungrateful, and remembered driving him home while Karl tried not to cry. So often it was Karl who was the strong one in their relationship, Anders was glad to be there for him for a change.

No, it had been Greagoir. He was indebted to some lyrium smugglers. The debt, apparently, went back to his days in Ferelden. And they'd come to collect on the day that Karl went to check on him. There was cross-fire, a ricocheting bullet. Karl was conscious just long enough to dial the police before passing out from blood loss. And by the time Anders got back to the hospital – he'd been nearly home from his shift and turned around as soon as he got the call – Karl was already in a coma.

"It… it hasn't been boring," he said, wiping his eyes. "But he's nothing like you. He's stubborn. Like a child who always gets what he wants. You know how I met him? He brings this guy into the clinic with a gunshot wound to the stomach. And all I can think is, 'Shit, this guy is going to die.' But… I couldn't let that happen. So I used magic…" He shook his head, palms against his eyes now.

"Maker, I wish you were here," he choked out.

"I wish I could use my magic without worrying about templars breaking down my door. I wish I could've saved you. I wish I never met Hawke because my life was uncomplicated before that."

Lonely and tiresome and routine and dull. But uncomplicated.

"He bought me a fucking couch," he said, laughing shakily. "Antivan leather. Remember how we used to look at furniture like that just for laughs? We'd say how impractical it was?"

He pulled his knees in tighter now, resting his chin on them, staring through tears at Karl's name. Anders hated his own last name. It was his father's. When they got married, he was going to take Karl's. And maybe adopt a baby. Anders had always wanted kids. Karl was less enthusiastic.

_"I have a hundred kids, Anders. Why would I want more?"_

_"Yes, but this one you can mold into whatever you want them to be!"_

_Karl laughed. "But I've done that with you already, love."_

_Anders made a face. "Creepy old man."_

_"Always."_

"His… his associate offered me a job. I thought about it. But even Hawke says it's a bad idea. Magic for healing. Maker, can you imagine? Being able to use my magic to save people without worrying about getting tossed in the Gallows? I'd be under their protection. Not that I would. The job's in Starkhaven. I… I couldn't leave you here."

It was the real reason he never left Kirkwall after. Sure, Justice was here, but Anders never felt like he belonged anywhere, except with Karl. When he died, Anders just… stayed. Not that Starkhaven was particularly far away, but it would feel too much like he was leaving Karl behind.

"So I'm going to dinner tonight at the Hawke family estate." He paused again, waiting for the response that would never come. "I wish you could tell me what a bad idea it is. His sister… she's not a bad person. She's a mage. Other than Jowan, who do I really have to talk about magic? Who else really understands? And Jowan's buried his so deep, his denial is almost full circle. He probably believes it's really gone." He couldn't blame Jowan though. Some days, magic did feel more like a curse. Years ago, they would lock mages up just for being what they were. The laws changed, ruled to be inhumane. So now it was just using magic that was illegal.

"He kissed me. Twice. The first time, Maker, it happened so fast I don't even know. Then he ran. The second… I want to blame it on the wine. He took me to dinner and… and it wasn't terrible. He's almost… I guess he can be sweet?" Anders said, unsure of himself. "But then he opens his mouth and the most arrogant, selfish things come out."

He sniffed.

"He's got a beard."

Because that detail was important. Anders watched Karl's beard turn from having flecks of grey amidst the brown to it being mostly grey before his death. He'd always been self-conscious about it, but Anders loved it. He loved every bit of Karl and his body, grey hair and wrinkles and all.

"I'm not replacing you."

There was no answer of course, but Anders liked to believe Karl understood.

Then, quiet, barely above a whisper, "I like him."

He closed his eyes, then pressed his forehead to his knees, sniffing.

"I'm not… I feel like I'm betraying your memory for thinking about him. For talking about him on _your_ day, for agreeing to go to a stupid dinner."

He let his hands fall to the grass. Six feet below was the coffin, satin lined, and Karl's corpse, dressed in a suit, yes, but under that, a Heroes of River Dane t-shirt. Anders wanted him in the shirt and jeans, but his aunt insisted. And as Anders wasn't officially Karl's husband, and she was paying for the funeral, he had to relent. But not for nothing did he work in the hospital, friends with people who could pull strings with the mortician's office. So he would wear that t-shirt under the suit and it was Anders' little secret.

"I love you."

He looked up at the headstone.

"I always will," he promised him.

He wiped his eyes, sniffing, and knelt forward, kissing his fingertips and pressing them to Karl's name. Standing, he brushed himself off and slowly trudged back to the car, hands in his pockets. Justice was leaning against the hood, phone to his ear.

"No, I think – hang on. I need to go. Later," he growled, and hung up before turning to Anders.

Anders walked into his embrace. Neither had to say anything, and Anders was glad Justice didn't. He pulled back once he felt a little better, and got silently into the passenger side.

"Back to my house?" Justice asked.

"No," Anders muttered, looking out the window at the graveyard. "Home. I have to change. I'm going out tonight."

Justice paused, and Anders knew he wanted to ask. He didn't, and Anders didn't offer any more information. This would either be a good idea, or the worst decision of his entire life.


	29. Chapter 29

Bethany drove a cute little VW bug. Anders felt at ease in her car. There wasn't anything unpredictable about it, from the fuzzy steering wheel cover and the brightly colored dice hanging from her rearview mirror, to the pop music that blasted from her stereo. Not that Anders really had anything in common with a female in her early twenties; it was just relaxing to know that she was, despite everything in her life, a normal girl. She drove like one too, distracted as she sang along with the radio, and Anders noticed that she had a nice singing voice as well.

"So," she said, looking him over, "you look a little better than yesterday."

"Thanks?"

She laughed. "Not meant to be an insult! It's just whenever I see you, you look so tired and sad all the time."

He'd showered and shaved when he got back from the cemetery and changed into a nice pair of jeans, button down shirt and an argyle sweater. It was a bit preppy, but they were the nicest clothes he could come up with while still looking casual. Everything else he owned was either, "I'm a Professional Doctor" or "I'm a Scruffy Bum." And the less said about how long it took him to pick out what to wear, the better. 

"I guess that's what being an adult does to you," he said, then winced, realizing it probably sounded somewhat pretentious of him. "No offense," he added.

"It's fine. I know I have a lot to learn. But no one else I've ever met looks so… Well. Like you."

He laughed. If it was anyone else, he would definitely be offended. "I work two jobs. Not just the clinic."

"Oh."

He wondered if she'd ever worked a day in her life, and decided that was unfair of him. She was clearly educated, and he had no reason to believe she sat around and did nothing all day.

"So," he ventured. "What do you do?"

"I take care of my mother, mostly."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "Is she sick?"

She looked over at him, rolling her eyes before facing the road again. "No. Just a pain in Garrett's ass. She blames him for everything since our dad died."

Anders frowned. He was learning more about the Hawke family with every conversation he had with her. Yesterday they'd kept things fairly surface, discussing movies and books they liked, and he found her company very welcome. When the subject switched to magic, she became a bit more guarded. It was normal though. No one liked to talk about it out of fear of being ostracized for it. He hadn't told Nathaniel until they met again in college. And Karl, well. Karl probably knew the second he laid eyes on Anders. Anders found out about _him_ the first night they made love.

"Sorry about your dad."

"Thanks. It's okay. It happened a while ago and I was still kind of young. It was just… one day he was there and the next he wasn't. Garrett took it hard. Still does."

"I think I understand that," Anders said. He wasn't sure why she was telling him this. Perhaps to get him to empathize for Hawke? It was working, at least a little. It was hard to dredge up sympathy for a man who seemed to have everything in life and acted like it as well.

"So when daddy died, Garrett had to take over the business."

"Mm."

He wasn't sure how much he was allowed to ask about the, 'business' as they put it. Everything Anders knew about their lifestyle came from books, TV and movies.

"I think you'd really be good for him."

"Bethany… could we not talk about this? Please?" It was still so complicated. His visit to Karl's grave that morning hadn't quite given him the full closure he was looking for. Then, he wasn't sure if he would ever get it. Karl would probably want him to move on. But that alone didn't feel like enough.

"Sorry," she pouted.

"It's just not that easy sometimes. Not like with you and Sebastian."

She laughed. "You think that was easy? Garrett threatened to castrate him if he touched me."

Anders looked at her, eyes wide. A threat like that from anyone else would've been idle, but Hawke would do it, he thought. "But… I thought you two… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume…"

She was grinning, dancing a little in her seat with the music. "Oh no. Sebastian helped him out with something involving my brother. My other brother, I mean," she added.

"How many brothers do you have?" Anders asked, trying to keep the Hawke family tree straight.

"Just the two. Garrett and my twin, Carver. Now he's a bit of an idiot. All muscle, no brain."

Anders would've said the same thing about Hawke before the other night. "Oh. I see. So after Sebastian helped…"

"I think Garrett talked to him, because Sebastian's always been very hands off. Not anymore," she said with a laugh.

Anders didn't want to know. The less he knew about Bethany's sex life, the better, actually. "So who else is going to be at this dinner?"

"Well there's me and Garrett and Carver of course, then Mother and Sebastian since he's staying with us what with his broken leg and all. Plus he's helping Garrett with a job."

Maker, again with the euphemisms. Anders was getting a headache thinking about what they might really mean. "Why don't you just… heal his leg?" he asked tentatively.

Bethany frowned. "I'm really not good with that kind of magic. My dad-" she stopped, glancing at him, before looking back to the road.

"Your dad was a mage?" Anders ventured. He knew it ran in the family but wasn't always passed on to children. It was difficult to figure out the science of it, the recessive traits, because so many mages kept silent. He'd tried mapping out his own genealogy and decided his magic came from his mother's side, as his great-great grandmother had been locked away in one of the Circles back when you could get arrested just for being a mage. If his mother had magic, she never told him, nor did she ever use it.

She nodded. "Don't bring him up to Garrett though. It's a sensitive topic."

"I understand." He did. Justice tried to talk to him about Karl on occasion. And Anders realized it was probably selfish of him not to indulge his brother. Karl, after all, had been Justice's friend too.

"So he tried to teach me some healing magic, but I was too young to grasp it all, I think."

Anders pondered this a moment. "I could teach you."

The only sound that filled the silence between them for a minute was the radio.

Bethany shrugged. "I don't know why you'd want to."

"So you can learn." He paused. "To help your brother." He thought for a moment he was offering just to be nice. But there was a bit of selfishness. Bethany could keep Hawke safe, perhaps. Who knew if the next person who burst into his clinic bleeding from a gunshot or stab wound would be Hawke? He wasn't entirely sure he could handle that.

Maker, getting involved was a bad idea. What if he did, and Hawke didn't come home one night? Could he handle losing someone else? He didn't think about that until just now.

Bethany pulled into the drive and punched in the code to open the gates. Anders felt a lot more relaxed than the first time he'd been brought to the Hawke estate, however, as the gates closed behind him, he wondered again just what in the hell he was doing.


	30. Chapter 30

Anders never really had large family dinners. It had only ever been himself, his brother and his parents. Justice, being so much older, left for college when Anders was still young and their mother died before Anders was even in high school. Karl's family was scattered all around Thedas and usually never around for the holidays. But Sunday dinner at the Hawke family estate was apparently a Big Deal. Bethany led him into the living room where he was immediately overwhelmed by how many people were there, some he recognized and some he didn't. An older woman with grey hair who must've been Mrs. Hawke came over to hug him.

"Oh my, dear, you are way too thin! We'll get you fattened right up, won't we?"

He knew it was a very motherly thing for her to say, but the story of the witch who fattened children so she could eat them later immediately popped into his head. His preconceived notions of these people were crumbling quickly though, especially when a little girl ran up to him and handed him a picture she drew which she explained enthusiastically was himself. He was dressed in a doctor's coat with a black bag and apparently was stabbing someone in the chest.

"You're ressitating him," she said. "See?"

_Resuscitating_ he realized. "I do. That's a very good drawing."

"I'm going to be a fairy princess artist," she informed him before running off.

"Varric's little girl," Bethany explained. "He's here somewhere, probably talking to Garrett." 

Then she made introductions, and Anders' head was spinning slightly. There was her brother Carver, Fenris, who barely acknowledged his entrance, Sebastian who smiled knowingly at him, Isabela who made him very, very uncomfortable with her generous cleavage and leer, and Merrill, who crossed to shake his hand. She was short and cute, and Anders practically felt the magic thrumming from her even before their hands met. So, Hawke employed mages as well for his 'business.' Bethany got him settled next to Isabela, then draped herself carefully over Sebastian, who held her loosely around the waist.

Luckily they all seemed to sense his discomfort and continued the conversations they were having before, except Isabela, who didn't appear to understand the concept of personal space. She scooted close to him, elbow on the back of the couch, head propped against her fist with her legs curled under her. Her t-shirt seemed about two sizes too small and the V-neck was split just a bit too low. He tried not to stare at her cleavage.

"So, you're Hawke's new friend," she purred.

"Sure," he said, because that seemed like a logical assessment of their relationship without looking at it too closely.

"Friend or…?" And her hand was on his thigh.

Anders jumped and slid away subtly, trying not to offend. "Friends."

"In that case, you should come back to my place after dinner."

If they'd met in a bar a year ago, he might have taken her up on the offer, if only to forget about his life for a few hours. She was very pretty, there was no denying that. Her dark skin and shining eyes under thick lashes made her look very out of place in rainy Kirkwall. Like she belonged somewhere the sun was always shining.

"Isabela, let him breathe," Sebastian said, glancing over.

"So tell us about yourself, Anders," Leandra said, her motherly air back in place, though her eyes continued to dart to her daughter, curled up against Sebastian's side.

"I… I'm a doctor," he offered lamely. That was his life summed up in three words. That and he was a cat owner, since so much of his life revolved around his patients and Ser Pounce-a-lot. And how pathetic was that? He hardly ever went anywhere except work or maybe to Justice's. The Blooming Rose was the first time he'd gone out to a restaurant in… well, he couldn't even remember.

"Orana says that dinner's-"

Everyone turned to see Hawke turn the corner and enter the living room, but Hawke stopped short, eyes falling on Anders. They narrowed dangerously. Anders suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

"What are you doing here?" Hawked asked, keeping his tone even.

Anders blushed angrily and was about to shoot back a retort when Bethany stood up, bouncing over to her brother and taking him by the arm.

"I invited him." She tugged on his arm to pull him out.

Hawke shrugged her off, turning his glare from Anders to Bethany. "Why?"

"Maybe we should talk about this in another room?" she tried again.

Anders shifted embarrassedly. He had no idea that Bethany hadn't told Hawke. He thought that it was Hawke's idea to send her in the first place, that he didn't want to ask Anders himself. He was foolish to believe that, he saw that now. Thankfully Hawke relented and Bethany shot Anders an apologetic look before leading her brother away.

"What kind of doctor?" Leandra asked after an uncomfortable silence.

The conversation drifted toward him and what he did, with others chiming in to ask about it. He focused mainly on the work he did for the hospital, the medical papers he wrote. It was easy to talk about his work, and anytime they veered toward something too personal, he was able to relate it to a story about the hospital.

"Well we certainly appreciate you patching up Fenris and Sebastian," Leandra said, somewhat fondly. "These boys. They play so rough."

Anders fought the nervous laughter that threatened to spill over. She was speaking about them as if they were merely engaging in a backyard game of tackle football. There was no way she didn't know what they got up to, considering her husband had been in the business as well. Denial was a powerful emotion, he supposed.

"So," Anders said, clearing his throat. "What ah…" He wanted to ask what they did, in order to balance out the conversation, and realized how awkward that would be. "You have a lovely home," he said, changing tact mid-sentence.

Leandra beamed at him. "Thank you! That's so sweet of you. Carver, isn't he darling?"

"Uh." Carver had said less even than Fenris. "Sure."

"You know, I bet if _Peaches_ applied herself the way Anders did, she would have a medical degree as well."

Anders raised an eyebrow, wondering who Peaches was, and surmised it was Carver's girlfriend, considering how uncomfortable the younger Hawke was looking. Oh, Maker, did Leandra just compare him to Carver's girlfriend? Did she think he was Hawke's boyfriend? Probably. Definitely. This was such a mess. He would never let Bethany convince him to come to dinner again. Or any other Hawke family get together.

"She's in school," Carver said defensively.

"To become a beautician," Leandra said. "It's not a reputable profession."

"Isabela runs a strip club, why don't you harp on her?" Carver shot back.

Isabela smirked. "Because _I'm_ reputable. I run a clean establishment."

_Well,_ Anders thought, _that's one way to find out what everyone does._

Leandra tutted. "Isabela is not my daughter, therefore not my concern. No offense, dear," she added, looking to Isabela, who shrugged it off easily. "Besides, she's not the one trying to sleep with my son."

"She's fucked Garrett," Carver said.

"Carver!" Leandra snapped. "Language, and in front of a guest, too!"

Thankfully the argument was curtailed when Varric leaned into the living room.

"Soup's on," he informed them.

Anders stood with the rest of them, wondering how polite it would be if he excused himself halfway and slipped out the bathroom window. Then again, he thought, Karl would appreciate the drama of it all. And who knew? Maybe he would find inspiration from them and start writing again.

After all, books about dysfunctional families sold exceptionally well these days.


	31. Chapter 31

Hawke and Bethany were already sitting at the long dining room table, Hawke at the head with a fireplace behind him. To the left, two large windows like those in the living room, the sun just starting to set. A classy glass chandelier hanging above the table threw prisms on the tablecloth. It all seemed very formal to Anders, but friendly. Bethany waved him over and patted the chair to Hawke's right. He hesitated, but as everyone slowly sat down, he realized there were only two open seats: that one, or the one at the other end of the table. He didn't want to look as if he was avoiding Hawke, so he sat next to Bethany and tried not to meet his eye.

Everyone settled and Anders eyed the dishes as they were brought out and passed around. He hadn't eaten yet that day, considering. A part of him felt guilty for the sudden hunger, that he should still be grieving. But then Bethany started piling up his plate, and he glanced around. The others had already started eating.

_Karl, I wish you could see this,_ he thought, and took a tentative bite.

It was delicious, the roast potatoes and green beans and the sliced meatloaf. Anders, who'd been living largely on fast food or whatever he could heat in a microwave, hadn't had a home cooked meal in over four years. Oh he'd buy the ingredients, deciding that he'd cook a big meal and have leftovers to bring to work, but then he was too busy or too tired and the fresh vegetables went bad and in the end it was just a waste of money.

Bethany was chatting with Sebastian who sat on her other side, and Isabela across from him. Fenris, who sat across from Anders, was listening to Carver on his left. Unless Anders inserted himself into their conversations or spoke over them to talk to someone down at the other end of the table, he was stuck. And Hawke didn't particularly look as if he wanted to talk, staring moodily at his glass of wine. Anders decided simply to tuck into his food and listen to the babble of the people around him.

"Perhaps if you started cleaning your weapons properly, you wouldn't have that issue," Fenris was saying to Carver.

Anders quickly tuned them out and listened to Bethany instead.

"So I should buy the pink one?"

Isabela pointed her fork. "Oh sweetie, yes. And you," she said to Sebastian," make sure you curl your fingers this way," she said, miming with her other hand. "And add a little tongue, so good. I swear it. But you know, you have to just ask each other what you like. I've never had it with a man whose leg was broken though," she added. "I could come watch?"

Sebastian looked about ready to agree, but Bethany blushed and giggled. "No!"

"Such a shame. Maybe you'll change your mind later. I'll ask again tomorrow." Isabela winked.

Anders felt himself grow hot. Didn't these people talk about anything normal? Like insurance and taxes and who won whatever sporting event? No, he decided. They probably didn't. He looked back to Hawke, who'd taken a few bites, then looked up, sensing Anders' eyes on him. Anders swallowed a bit of potato and coughed, reaching for his water glass.

"Don't choke," Hawke muttered.

Anders sipped and cleared his throat. "I'm fine."

Hawke frowned. "Look, I didn't know she invited you. Sunday dinner's a… thing."

"I…" He wasn't sure what to make of that statement. Was Hawke implying that he didn't want him there because it was a family dinner, or was he apologizing for his somewhat eccentric family?

Luckily he didn't have to ask him to clarify because someone else came into the dining room. An older man with grey hair who was starting to go bald. Heads turned as he sat at the end of the table, placing a kiss to Leandra's cheek. A boyfriend?

"Hi Uncle Gamlen!" Bethany called down the table.

Brother, then. Anders didn't see much of a family resemblance though. Gamlen was thin and reedy and looked more like the kind of men you'd see in mafia movies than anyone sitting at this table. All he needed was a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and a fedora. Maybe a tommy gun. Anders smirked a bit as his imagination ran away with himself.

"Uncle," Hawke said flatly.

Clearly he did not have a good relationship with this man. Gamlen barely acknowledged either Hawke or Bethany, and his eyes fell briefly on Anders. He scowled. Anders knew that you shouldn't judge by first impressions, and normally he tried to follow that rule. But Gamlen put him off straight away.

"Are we feeding the whole of the city now?"

Hawke's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "If you don't like the table I keep, Uncle, feel free to leave."

Gamlen snorted. "Your grandfather would be ashamed with the riffraff you surround yourself with."

"Gamlen," Leandra said softly.

Anders realized then, as Gamlen waved Orana over to pour him a glass of wine, that the man was drunk already. The rest of the table fell quiet, finding a sudden interest in their plates. Even little Bianca who sat between Isabela and her father, seemed to understand that something was off with the grownups. Gamlen grabbed Orana's wrist when she tried to stop pouring.

"Glass is only half-full, girl."

Hawke's mouth went to a thin line. "Orana, my uncle's had enough."

Orana clearly deferred to Hawke in the situation, and stepped away, Gamlen releasing her. Hawke drained his glass and held it up, keeping his eyes on Gamlen. Orana quickly moved away from him and toward Hawke, pouring from the bottle. Hawke finally looked at her, smiling warmly.

"Thank you, sweetheart. We're good here. Just leave the bottle."

Orana set the bottle down and half-curtsied before hurrying out. Hawke picked up the bottle and offered it to Anders. His glass was still quite full but he realized he was supposed to accept anyway, and lifted it. Hawke glared at Gamlen a bit more. Anders wondered when they would tear off their shirts and start hitting each other with metal folding chairs. The reactions from around the table told him that this was likely a regular occurrence.

That bit of alpha-maleness passed now, the conversations resumed quietly, then a bit more enthusiastically as dinner continued. Anders found himself being pulled into a conversation with Bethany about a band she liked and somehow he ended up making tentative plans with her and Isabela to see the group later in the week.

_No,_ he thought grimly. _The word you're looking for is 'No.'_

"They're going to turn you into their pet mascot," Hawke muttered.

Anders turned to look at him, feeling a flash of irritation. "If you don't want me to become friends with your sister, why don't you just order me away from her? Or threaten me?"

Fenris raised an eyebrow but said nothing, listening to their conversation now.

Hawke scoffed. "If I didn't want you here, trust me, you wouldn't be here." He frowned, looking at the wine glass in hand, as if he hadn't meant to say what he did.

And the implication behind the words? Hawke wanted him there. Anders flushed slightly, still angry. "This is ridiculous."

"What?"

"You. This. Everything."

Hawke shrugged. "Is what it is."

"What kind of mindless, piece of shit argument is that? You sound like a Chantry brother spouting on about how 'if the Maker wills it'. It's a load of crap."

Hawke slid his gaze from his glass to Anders, and Anders was locked momentarily in those hard, green eyes. Hawke leaned forward, lowering his voice so even Fenris couldn't hear.

"If you keep going at me like that, I might have to drag you from the table and fuck you senseless."

He sat back, leaving Anders sputtering, unsure what the hell that was about. Of course Hawke would say something like that. It was a completely inappropriate, totally immature, ostensibly arrogant thing to state at a dinner table of all places. He really was like a child, only instead of pushing Anders in the mud or pulling his hair, he stalked him and bought him couches. Anders was insane for even entertaining the idea of anything close to a relationship with him.

But, as he picked his fork up again for a third helping of meatloaf, he couldn't get the image of Hawke doing what he threatened to do out of his head.


	32. Chapter 32

Dinner faded into dessert and despite how much he ate, Anders found he had room for the chocolate cake with raspberry filling. He wondered briefly how much a dinner like this would set back any normal person. A dozen people at the table, with as much as they consumed, plus he wasn't sure how many bottles of wine. And they weren't the cheap bottles, either. Likely imported, Anders thought. Like everything else in this house. There was a comfortable silence after the dessert plates were cleared and Orana brought coffee.

She, at least, brewed a decent pot.

Anders was feeling full and sated and happy. Even Hawke seemed to be a bit more relaxed, laughing a little with Carver as they spoke of something that happened last week.

"So I told him, when he asked me," Carver said, "about if you were coming to get me." He laughed. "I said, 'Mate, you really don't know my brother. He locked me in the trunk once and forgot about me for a day and a half'."

Hawke burst into laughter, and Anders found himself grinning a bit. Their stories were a bit crazy, a little unorthodox, but between the lines they really were just like any other family. Siblings fought, mother fussed, and crazy drunk uncle showed up to start crap with everyone. Which Gamlen was trying to do now. Varric had taken Bianca away for 'story and bedtime' with Bianca complaining she wanted to stay up. Varric let her give hugs and kiss everyone's cheeks, including Anders', which made him feel warm and welcomed. He noticed she skipped Gamlen, though. Or perhaps Varric told her to. Either way, Anders didn't blame them. The man let out a belch and sat back in his chair, leering at Isabela, who was doing her best to ignore him.

"Your grandfather would never allow this to go on," Gamlen said loudly.

The laughter died down, and Leandra looked at her brother. "Gamlen do you want me to have Bodahn give you a ride home?"

"Hush, woman. You're the reason this whole-" he hiccupped, "this whole family's gone to shit. If you hadn't married that mage-"

"Gamlen," Leandra said, a bit pleadingly, casting a look to Hawke, whose expression darkened at once.

It was like someone flipped a switch. One minute, Hawke was laughing with his brother and the rest of them and the next, he was colder than a Fereldan winter. He stayed silent though, almost as if he dared Gamlen to continue.

"Shut up, Leandra," Gamlen said. "You married that mage and our father went on and on. Malcolm this and Malcolm that. He was so besotted with him, they were probably fucking around behind your back. Bunch of ponce-"

"That's enough," Hawke said quietly.

"Oh please," Gamlen said. "Your father couldn't keep it in his pants. You think he stopped sleeping around after he squirted his seed in your mother's belly?"

"Shut up!" This was from Carver.

Anders was thinking the leaving-via-the-bathroom-window plan was a good option right about now. He stayed quiet, looking down at his nearly empty coffee mug.

"Like father like son," Gamlen sneered. "And now Garrett's bringing his whores to the dinner table. Tell me, you little shit," Gamlen said, and Anders realized he was being addressed, if only because people were looking at him now, "how much does he pay you to suck his-"

Hawke moved so fast Anders didn't realize what happened until it was over. There was a _thunk_ and a jolt of silverware and mugs as a knife stuck between Gamlen's fingers, which had been splayed on the table. Anders stared. Gamlen did as well, looking at how closely he'd come to losing a finger.

"Ooh that was a good shot," Isabela quipped.

"Well you have been teaching him," Merrill added fondly, in a tone that made Anders think she missed the entire thread of what was going on.

"Get out," Hawke said, on his feet. His fists were clenched, pressed on the table and he was glaring at Gamlen, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

For a moment, Anders thought maybe Gamlen wouldn't go. But he wiped his mouth on his napkin, scowling, and left. Leandra hesitated, then went as well. Sebastian cleared his throat.

"I'll get your crutches," Bethany said, and did, tossing an apologetic look to Anders as she helped him out.

Isabela was the next to leave, signaling to Merrill who followed her quickly. Carver looked at Hawke, who was sitting again now, sipping his coffee, another knife in hand, flipping it idly. He exchanged a look with Fenris and they both left. Anders found himself alone in the dining room with Hawke, at a loss for words. He wanted to apologize but that was ridiculous. It wasn't his fault. He wondered if all their dinners ended that way or if this was just a special occasion.

"My father was a good man," Hawke said finally.

Anders had no idea what to say to that. Or what would have been appropriate. "Mine wasn't," he said, though there was no tone of self-pity.

Hawke snorted and picked up his coffee mug, draining it. "He didn't cheat on my mother. No matter what Gamlen thinks. Family first. Even if she drove him crazy. Maker, but Gamlen makes it hard."

Anders frowned. "Just because he's blood-"

"Don't," Hawke said, shifting, forearms resting against the edge of the table as he leaned over. The knife was back between his fingertips and he was closing and opening it, pensive. "Until he decides to turn on me, he's still family. And he's not stupid enough to do that. Not yet."

Well, those were ominous words if Anders ever heard them. He didn't want to think about what would happen if someone was stupid enough to turn on Hawke. Or what 'turning on him' even entailed.

"What was your father like?" Anders asked gently. He almost immediately regretted it, but Hawke didn't say anything right away. He didn't even look at Anders.

"He was strong," Hawke said, a faraway look in his eye. "He was a mage," he admitted. "Always talked about how it was bullshit that mages couldn't use magic. That if you had a natural talent for something, it shouldn't be kept a secret. He hated templars and the Chantry. Had a healthy disrespect for cops, too, considering how many of them worked their way up to be mage hunters. I got that from him."

It was reassuring to think that Hawke wasn't just pro-mage, but pro-magic as well.

"He loved us," Hawke continued, and Anders kept quiet. "Bethany was his little princess. Tore the town apart when she got kidnapped when she was a kid."

Anders frowned. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to have something like that happen.

"It's not easy, but it's the life. And we take care of our own. My grandfather knew it. Mom's father," he clarified. "And Gamlen… it would've fallen to shit if Grandpa Aristide gave the business to him. So he turned bitter when my father took over. And then it came to me. Maker only knows what'll happen when I die."

Anders swallowed. Mortality was something he didn't particularly want to discuss, especially today of all days. His heart constricted a little. It was a mistake, a big mistake to ever have gotten involved. If he was going to move on, it should've been with someone safe. Someone conventional. But since when did he ever go for convention? He'd been nursing a terrible crush on Karl for weeks, probably months before he kissed him. He'd only waited until graduation to avoid getting Karl in trouble. And now…

He slid his hand over the tabletop, up Hawke's arm, touched his wrist, and took the hand holding the knife. Hawke shifted the knife to his other hand, closing it, and pocketed it, looking at him, letting Anders entwine their fingers. Anders felt his heart speed up as Hawke's expression softened into that sad, almost forlorn look he'd seen before. He seemed so vulnerable, so unlike how he was just minutes ago, threatening his uncle, commanding the table.

This time, Anders initiated the kiss, leaning in, tilting his head. Hawke met him halfway, and it was nice. He couldn't blame the wine this time, didn't want to. A hand found its way to the back of his head and he allowed it, Hawke sinking his fingers into his hair. Anders reached up with his own free hand, cupping Hawke's cheek, fingers threaded in his beard. He opened his mouth, a soft noise of approval and longing as Hawke's tongue met his own. Heat rose in his face as a coil of arousal blossomed in his chest, sliding down to his belly. He wanted this man. He wanted him, and it didn't seem fair. But Hawke wanted him too, so didn't that make it okay?

Hawke pulled back, slightly breathless, and Anders finally opened his eyes, unsure what to say.

"Hey," Hawke mused quietly.

"Mm?"

"That was the first time you didn't shove me away."

Anders sighed, then chuckled. "I didn't want to this time."

"Why not?"

"Because you weren't being an arrogant asshole for once."

"Oh."

"I like that you just accepted that," Anders said, amused. He was still cupping Hawke's cheek.

"Well. Truth hurts sometimes," Hawke said, smiling. "Stay?"

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Stay?"

"For tonight. For a while."

"I… have a clinic shift."

"Call out."

He frowned. It would be irresponsible. Not to mention he needed the money. He had to fix his car. And take care of Ser Pounce-a-lot.

"I can't. I have to get home. My cat-"

"So I'll come over your place," Hawke said.

Ah. There was that assumptive arrogance.

"And if you have work in the morning, I'll drive you. Just for tonight I want to…"

"Want to what?" Anders prompted.

Hawke scowled.

"Tell me," Anders pushed. "Or there's no point."

"I want to forget about my responsibilities. Just for the night."

Anders thought he knew what it cost Hawke to say those words. So he leaned in and kissed him again, then muttered against his lips, "Yes."

Hawke kissed him firmly before getting up. "I'll get my keys and coat. You can say good-bye to everyone. They're in the living room."

And he left, leaving Anders sitting alone in the dining room, looking at the coffee mugs left behind. His eyes fell upon the knife stuck at the end of the table, and before he knew what he was doing he got up and pulled it out, running his fingers over the hole in the tablecloth. Very carefully he closed the knife and pocketed it, unsure why, but deciding to keep it.

Maybe, he thought, that was a way of keeping Hawke to himself. Did he show anyone that vulnerable side of himself? Bethany said Hawke didn't talk about his father. But he had to Anders. It had to mean something. He hoped it did. Not wanting to think on it any further tonight, he walked to the living room to say good-night.


	33. Chapter 33

They started on opposite ends of the couch, Anders tossing his cell phone on the table after calling Jowan to take his shift, switching schedules around to make it work. Anders knew he should have felt bad, but he'd done so many favors for him, taking his day shifts when he was half asleep so Jowan could spend time with Lily. This once, just this once, it was his turn. He turned to look at Hawke almost a bit shyly. The last time they were here together, he was tipsy and reeling from the action of the afternoon. Tonight he was clear-headed and relaxed. He felt like he could make a rational decision about this. But really, what was rational about getting involved with Hawke?

Hawke reached out a hand, fingers sliding over Anders' until they took hold, and he pulled slowly, hesitantly almost. Anders scooted closer, and Hawke wrapped his arm around the back of the couch, those fingers now brushing his neck idly. Anders shivered, looking at him. He was nervous, like a boy on his first date. It felt so different from the other times. With Nathaniel it was all impulse and they never had a luxury like a couch or a bed. With Karl, things started quickly with no real awkward adjustment period. Hawke made him nervous, anticipatory.

"I really like your eyes," Hawke said.

"My eyes? Why?" Anders didn't they were anything special.

"They remind me of honey."

Anders laughed. "I've… never heard that before."

"Sorry. I bet that sounds like a line."

Anders smirked. "It's not?"

Hawke grinned, turning toward him, knee resting on the couch, and dropped his free hand to Anders' thigh. Anders looked down at it, feeling the heat through his pants. He watched Hawke's thumb draw across the fabric, felt him squeeze gently and slowly slide up his leg. Anders laid his own over it, holding tight.

"Too much?" Hawke asked.

"Just… let's go slowly," Anders said. "I don't even know what I'm doing, I…"

"Wait," Hawke said, frowning a bit. "You've never… with a guy…?"

Anders squeezed his eyes shut, laughing. "No, I mean. Yes," he corrected. "I have been. I meant I don't know what I'm doing with _you_."

"Oh." A pause. "I've never been with a guy."

Anders had had his suspicions. "But women?"

Hawke let out a gruff sigh. "You don't want to talk about our past lovers, do you?"

"You brought it up!" Anders protested.

"I suppose," Hawke agreed. "Hey."

Anders looked at him, and closed his eyes as Hawke leaned in, kissing him. Hawke had a thing for his hair, he decided, as those fingers crept up, and he quickly lost his hair tie. His other hand cupped Anders' jaw, which was already stubbled though he'd shaved earlier. A thumb swept over his chin and he opened his mouth to Hawke's tongue, unable to stop himself from making a quiet noise of longing. It felt better than anything had in a long time, and he was able to forget his exhaustion, his job, his bills. This wasn't just some one-night stand where he'd be left with a cold bed in the morning.

Was it?

He pulled back, hand at Hawke's chest. Hawke groaned, head dropping, shoulders slumped. Anders frowned.

"What?" he asked.

"You pushed me away again," Hawke sighed, looking up. He drew Anders' chin up, thumb brushing his bottom lip. "I thought I was making progress."

Anders couldn't help a small laugh. "No, it's not bad. I just… want to know what you want."

"…The voice in my head says, 'Don't say, "To fuck you",' but that's all I can come up right now. Sorry."

The arrogance this time was endearing rather than infuriating, and a bit flattering. "And after that?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Movie? And maybe sleep? I could go another round but you'd have to give me a bit after."

"You're impossible," Anders protested.

"I think you called me that once already," Hawke said. "Along with a lot of other things."

He had. And not all of them were to his face. Anders gave a brief thought for the others Hawke kept in his circle of friends and family and wondered how many of them would get away with it. Not many, he decided, and it made him feel special. He hadn't felt that way in a long time.

"I meant," Anders said, touching Hawke's knee, "is it just that? Sex and nothing else?"

Hawke didn't answer right away, and Anders was glad for that. If Hawke had said 'yes' without thinking, his heart might have broken a bit. He could've handled it, he thought. Would he still have sex with Hawke if that's all it was? He'd like to think not, that he thought he deserved more than just a tumble and a kick to the curb. Hawke certainly meant more to him than that, and he hoped Hawke felt the same. Bethany had said 'love' but Anders couldn't hope for that. They'd barely known each other a week now. It felt like a lifetime.

"Normally I'd say yes," Hawke said, sounding conflicted. He reached up, brushing Anders' hair back, tucking it behind his ear. "I'm bad at relationships. Really bad. I end up cheating on my girlfriends. The only one who didn't seem to care was Isabela, and I don't really think that counted since she was fucking Fenris when we were together."

Anders squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was amused and pained at the same time. The proclamation was so… so _Hawke_ it made him laugh. "All right. Well," he said, sighing and looking back at him. "If we're going to do… whatever it is we're going to do, I… I can't… don't cheat on me."

Hawke mulled this over, then nodded. "Okay." He paused a second. "Cheating like…?"

Anders couldn't believe he had to explain this to a grown man. "No kissing anyone else, no sleeping with anyone else." He briefly considered buying Hawke a dictionary so he could look up the word 'monogamy' for himself.

"Oh. Sure," Hawke agreed easily. "But what about strip clubs?"

Anders gave him an incredulous look. "What about them?"

"Well, you see, I own one. Co-own, I guess. It's technically in Isabela's name, but it's mine. It's complicated. Varric works out the taxes."

"Well," Anders said, "I mean, I guess that can't be helped." He wondered how jealous he would feel, Hawke hanging out a strip club, looking at half-naked women all day. But then, Hawke would be coming home to him, not going home with them, so he supposed that was good. "No touching."

"Of course. I don't really do that anyway. Gets too messy getting involved."

Anders didn't want to know if there was a story behind that. "Then… then I guess that's all I really want."

"That's all?" Hawke asked.

"Well, and some personal space on occasion," Anders added. "I meant it when I said no more couches."

Hawke laughed. "You already have one. I won't buy you another," he promised.

"I want to maintain my independence, "Anders decided. Because Hawke was the kind of person who would easily take over every aspect of his life. And Anders thought he might let him. Karl always encouraged Anders to spend time with friends or buy things for himself that were to his own tastes. Anders found it easier to let Karl call the shots, so to speak.

Hawke looked confused. "So… what the hell does that mean?"

Anders shook his head. "I'll let you know if it becomes a problem."

"Fair enough. So. Can I kiss you again?"

Anders responded by kissing him instead, resting a hand on his chest. Hawke's arm around him tightened and pulled him in close. Anders' mind raced. How far were they going to go tonight? Would they have sex? He thought quickly if he had any lotion or oil, and remembered the jar of Vaseline in the linen closet. Last he checked he had condoms, but what if they were expired? He was clean, he knew that. You didn't work in a hospital and just forget to get tested. Especially since he hadn't always been careful after Karl died.

Hawke pulled back. "I can almost hear you thinking, Anders. What is it?"

"Just… it's been a while. I… I've had a lot of… um. One night stands really. But four years ago-" His words caught in his throat and he suddenly teared up.

Hawke looked slightly panicked. "What is it?"

"Oh… Maker's balls!" Anders hissed, dropping his head to Hawke's shoulder. He knew he was probably confusing the hell out of him as he shook, laughing and crying at the same time. "I… I'm sorry. It's just. I thought I could do this. I do! I do want to do this. I just…"

Hawke, who'd tensed, relaxed a little, hand coming to his back, rubbing gently, holding him. Anders relaxed as well, wiping away the tears. This felt nice, really nice. Just to have someone holding him.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

"Do you… want to talk about it? Or something?" Hawke offered.

Anders choked out a laugh. Hawke was seriously trying. It was endearing. And he owed it to him to tell him the truth. So he looked up. "I was with someone. We were together for ten years and… he… four years ago, he died. Today."

Hawke's expression went from confused to concerned and shocked. "Oh… oh shit. Anders…"

"It's fine," Anders said quickly, and he was surprised to realize that it was. He missed Karl. He would always miss Karl. But maybe he was moving on. "Just… maybe… rain check on the sex?" he asked hopefully.

Hawke kissed him gently. "Yes. Definitely."

"Would you still stay?" Anders asked, hand still resting on Hawke's chest. He could feel his heartbeat.

"Of course," Hawke said. "After all, you ditched work for me. Movie or something?"

"Could stream something on the laptop," Anders offered, slightly embarrassed of his crappy little TV in his bedroom after seeing the giant one in Hawke's living room.

"Sounds perfect," Hawke said, leaning down and pulling off his shoes. He tossed them aside.

Anders pulled his laptop from its spot under the couch, toeing off his own shoes, and Ser Pounce-a-lot jumped up to cuddle between them. Anders let Hawke choose a movie, and as they sat together curled up, his head against Hawke's chest, Anders thought he could definitely get used to this.


	34. Chapter 34

Hawke never had a cat. He'd owned a dog once, a long time ago when he was a kid. Carver left the back gate of their house open and it ran away. He'd never seen it again. He was too busy to take care of a pet, and it didn't seem fair to foist the responsibility onto someone else. So when Ser Pounce-a-lot jumped up on the bed and trod all over his chest, he woke immediately. 

The sun was coming up, streaming in through the cracked blinds. Anders' bedroom was cleaner than the last time he'd seen it, though admittedly he'd only given it a cursory glance. There was a nightstand, a tall dresser upon which an old TV sat, a closet, various odds and ends, and the bed he was currently lying in, Anders asleep and half on top of him. He'd been given a pair of pajamas that smelled as if they'd just been washed. The top was a bit too tight, the bottoms a bit too long. But more comfortable than trying to sleep in his jeans and button-down.

Anders shifted a little, arm thrown over Hawke's chest. The cat protested with a mewl and gingerly stepped over Anders, using his back as a springboard and settled in on his other side. Anders didn't wake, and Hawke supposed he was used to it. He wondered if there would be any negotiating about keeping the cat out of the bedroom when they slept. Then he decided it wasn't a big deal at all. Anders muttered something in his sleep and moved, face buried now against Hawke's side, a thigh pressing perilously close to Hawke's groin.

Hawke still wanted to fuck him. He supposed Anders would deal with the mechanics of it all, like Isabela had when Hawke took her that way once. Or he could just look up porn on the internet. Or ask Isabela, he supposed. Despite being a woman, she would know. Sebastian was another option, but now that the man was doing _things_ with his baby sister, the less he talked to Sebastian about sex, the better. He felt like a kid again, finding his father's dirty magazines and asking him about it and getting the talk. Malcolm had been direct, but didn't go into detail. Hawke had been glad for that at the time, but now he felt like he could've used someone like his father to talk to about this.

If someone had told him he'd end up here in bed with Anders after knowing him a week and _not_ fucking him, he would've laughed in their face. Before Anders he'd never entertained the idea of being with another man. And now he was moving headlong into a relationship with him. They talked almost all night, pausing the movie on occasion to discuss some detail of their past. Hawke didn't press the dead boyfriend issue, but he learned the man's name and that it had been something like a May-December romance. Hawke could appreciate that, having slept with many older women, some of whom were around his mother's age, but wisely kept quiet.

He wondered if he would be compared to Karl. Probably, yes. He was used to being good at sex. He knew what most women wanted and he was vocal about what he liked. This was starting over for him, Intercourse 101. It was nerve-wracking. Why was he even bothering? Anders shifted again, moving onto his stomach, leg slipping off Hawke's. His ankle was still wrapped around his own, though, and his face was pressed into the pillow, mouth slightly opened. Hawke brushed his hair back, out of his eyes and off his neck.

Maybe it was Anders' unassuming nature. So many people wanted things from him. Even his family, as much as he loved them, asked him for favors. Not that he minded. He was, by his very nature, a provider. But Anders was vehemently against it. He yelled at him about the couch, which Hawke thought was not a big deal. And dinner at the Rose was taken begrudgingly. He wondered if Anders would accept a new bed. This mattress certainly wasn't very comfortable. He made a mental note to swing by the furniture shop later to look at beds. If he was going to stay here on occasion, it was as much for him as it was for Anders, right?

There was also the matter of the television. Curling up on the couch was nice, but he could imagine lying in bed with Anders, post-coital, turning on a movie in hi-def. He wondered if the cable company even ran lines out to shit-hole apartment buildings. And that was another weird thing, he thought. Anders was a doctor, working two jobs. Surely he'd have more money? At least enough to fix his car. Hawke made another mental note to have a mechanic take a look at it. Varric probably knew someone good. That way Anders wouldn't get angry if Hawke drove him places or had Fenris pick him up. After last week, Anders probably didn't want to get in the car with Fenris again anytime soon.

He thought about Brekker, now in pieces in the Waking Sea. He'd given them the location of Meeran, but of course the place was cleaned out when they went to look. Hawke didn't have any of Meeran's blood to have Merrill track him down, unfortunately. There were only a few other places in Kirkwall where the bastard might be hiding. He'd have to throw his weight around today to try to find him. And maybe give Aveline an updated report. As far as he knew, there weren't any other Red Iron victims.

The phone on the nightstand buzzed and Hawke picked it up quickly so it wouldn't wake Anders. Without thinking, he answered.

"Hello?" he asked, his voice full of sleep.

There was a pause on the other end. "Who are you?"

Hawke thought the voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. But he supposed the question was fair; it was Anders' phone, not his. "You first," he challenged.

"Where's Anders?"

"He's asleep."

"Why are you answering his phone?"

And then Hawke recognized it. "Morning, Detective Justice," he said, unable to keep the smugness from his tone.

Another pause. Then, growled, "Hawke?"

Hawke would've laughed, but he didn't want to wake Anders. "What can I do for you, detective?" he asked, injecting some cheer into his tone.

"Why are you answering Anders' phone?"

"Because it was in arm's reach and I didn't want it to wake him up. It's a bit early, isn't it?" Hawke was enjoying this. He could practically hear the man seething.

"If you hurt him-"

"What kind of monster do you think I am?" Hawke asked, trying to sound offended, but there was an edge of glee to his voice. "I was gentle."

He was grinning now, teeth clenched to keep from laughing out loud, but he was shaking a bit.

"Put my brother on the phone. NOW!"

Hawke pulled the phone away from his ear as Justice lost his cool. Anders jerked, stirring awake. He lifted his head, yawning.

"Whu?" he managed, opening an eye, wincing.

"Your brother," Hawke said, handing the phone over.

Anders, still mostly asleep, lowered his head and took the phone, tucking it against his ear. "Justice, what?" he muttered. "'Slike, six in the morning."

Hawke was close enough that he could hear Justice clearly.

"What is that Hawke man doing answering your phone? Anders, he was inferring that you slept together!"

"Mm? What?"

"ANDERS!"

Anders jumped, displacing Ser Pounce-a-lot who meowed indignantly and hopped off the bed. Anders scrambled back to his knees, eyes wide now, and nearly fell off the bed in his haste to move away from Hawke, as if Justice could see them together. He left the bedroom, but Hawke could still hear one side of the conversation.

"We slept togeth – NO! Justice, just SLEPT. So?" A pause. "You're insane. Paranoid and delusional. I hope you – what? No! Look, don't spread rumors. Just… just stay out of it!"

Hawke stretched and got up, straightening the covers before changing back into his clothing from last night. He tossed the pajamas on the foot of the bed and plodded across the hall to the bathroom, nudging the door halfway shut. Hand against the wall, he relieved himself, looking at the cracked lid of the toilet's tank. Maker, this place was falling apart. Maybe if he couldn't convince Anders to move in with him, he could at least get him to move somewhere nicer.

"Believe it or not," Anders was saying, as Hawke flushed and washed his hands before moving into the living room, "I like him."

Hawke smirked. Anders was in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee. He carefully moved up behind him and took him around the waist, grinning when Anders jumped. He pressed his lips to his neck.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he said, loud enough for Justice to hear, before sliding a hand under Anders' pajama top, hand on his stomach.

Anders was blushing, he could see his pale neck reddening.

"I have to go," he said quietly to Justice. "No, I don't need a ride in. Hawke will-"

"He's dangerous," Hawke heard Justice say.

"I appreciate you looking out for me…"

Hawke slid his hand up, nose buried in Ander's neck, inhaling. He wondered if this was too familiar, too much, too fast. His fingers found a nipple and he pinched. Anders yelped.

"What did he do!?" Justice demanded. "Are you okay?!"

"I'm FINE!" Anders said, pushing Hawke back.

Hawke took a step away, leaning against the counter opposite, waiting.

"I promise. No, I wouldn't lie to you, Justice." Anders threw the used coffee filter in the garbage under the sink and started to take care of Ser Pounce's food while the coffee brewed. "That doesn't count. No, it doesn't. I just… didn't tell you I had a boyfriend. That's not the same as lying."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. 'Boyfriend?' He thought about that for a second. Is that what they were? He supposed it was accurate enough. Then, suddenly, Anders stood up straight, his expression changing from exasperated to livid.

"Fuck you."

It was not the playful, 'Fuck you,' that Hawke threw around easily with Carver and Varric. This was most definitely the literal, angry, 'Fuck you,' you say to a person when you want to hurt them, but are too angry to come up with anything scathing.

"How… I can't believe… You… Just…" Anders was too angry to form a complete sentence.

Hawke immediately took the phone from him ignoring his protests. "Listen, asshole," he said, "I don't know what you just said, but whatever it is, you'd better hope that Anders forgives you for it."

"Don't you presume-" Justice started.

"Shut the fuck up," Hawke snapped. "The only reason I'm not on the phone with my people right now trying to find a way to bury you for whatever you just said to make him hurt like that is because you're his family. How he ever turned out as good as he did with a piece of shit like you for a brother, I don't know. So you leave him the fuck alone and he'll call you when he feels like it."

He hung up without waiting for a response, and turned to Anders. Anders was glaring at him. The phone buzzed again, and Anders snatched it from him, and answered.

"Leave me alone, Justice. I'll call you later." He hung up and tossed the phone on the counter. It clattered, bouncing off the back before settling. "Why did you do that?" he snarled at Hawke.

"He upset you," Hawke said, frowning. "That's what you do when someone hurts someone you lo-ike."

Anders' expression went from livid to confused. "What?"

Hawke shrugged, uncomfortable. "I never liked him anyway."

Anders sighed, running a hand back through his hair. "Maker's breath…"

"What did he say to you?" Hawke asked gently, taking a step forward. He hesitated, but took Anders by the waist.

Anders shoved his hands away, then after a pause, leaned against him. "He said… 'What would Karl say about you seeing a guy like Hawke?'"

Hawke, who'd been about to embrace Anders, tensed. "Did he."

Anders sighed, and Hawke hugged him, rubbing his back.

"Don't…" Anders started. "Just… let it go. Sometimes Justice doesn't have a filter."

"Yeah, no shit," Hawke muttered, kissing the top of his head.

"So," Anders said, pulling back slowly, turned to take a couple mismatched mugs from the cabinet, "how do you know him?"

Hawke watched him pour them both coffee and accepted his cup. "I do some work with his captain."

"Oh."

"We don't get along."

Anders smirked. "I expect you wouldn't."

"He… doesn't like me."

Anders snorted. "Look, the less I know about that, the better." He stopped, the mug halfway to his lips. "I'm not going to tell Justice about anything you do."

Hawke blinked. It hadn't even occurred to him that Anders would rat on him to Justice. And what did that say about how he felt about Anders? Usually he was so careful with those he let close to him. "I didn't even think about it," he said honestly. "I trust you. And besides, I'm careful with… that part of my life."

"I guess you'd have to be," Anders said, frowning, sipping.

"I won't drag you into it."

Anders laughed. "Like Brekker?"

Hawke frowned. "That was a mistake. It won't happen again. Look, I spent most of my life keeping my sister out of the life. I even tried to keep Carver out but he's a persistent asshole. I wouldn't choose this for anyone. It's just… something I'm really good at."

Anders nodded. "I understand."

Hawke leaned forward, pressing Anders' hand and coffee mug away from his mouth and kissed him gently. "Mm. When's your shift?"

Anders picked up his phone and checked the time. "An hour. I'm going to take a quick shower. Are you…"

"I'm giving you a ride in. And I'll pick you up if you want."

Anders fidgeted, looking uncomfortable.

"Or you can take the bus," Hawke relented. "But call me if you don't want a ride. Otherwise I'll be in the parking lot. Five?"

Anders scoffed. "As if you don't know my schedule."

Hawke shrugged. "I tend to know where all my family members are at all times."

Anders' eyes widened, and he smiled before leaning in and kissing Hawke again. "I'm going to shower," he said quietly, before leaving.

Hawke grinned a bit stupidly before he realized. He had indeed, not for the first time, but for the first time out loud, counted Anders as family.


	35. Chapter 35

It felt oddly similar to when he would drop Bethany and Carver off at school, pulling up in front of the hospital. It was domestic, and Hawke sort of liked that. Anders turned to leave, stopped, and turned back to kiss him goodbye. Hawke grinned, watching Anders fairly skip into the building. The best part was that people were looking at him, checking out the car, and looking toward Anders with a mixture of jealousy and respect. That's what money got you, after all. And Hawke decided it was high time someone gave that to Anders. He saved people's lives. He was worthy of it. Maybe when he picked Anders up, he'd borrow Sebastian's cherry red Ferrari Spider. It was the least subtle car anywhere in the Free Marches.

Anders would probably kill him.

Feeling more pleased with himself than usual, he went first to Varric to check in with him. The Hanged Man wasn't open yet, but he had his own key for the employee entrance and let himself in. The prep team was in the kitchen, music blaring. As Hawke walked through, they turned to greet him, nodding at him or raising a hand. Hawke nodded back cheerfully before stepped out into the restaurant. It was empty save for the janitor, an old Rivaini man with a grey beard, who worked twice as hard as any of the young kids Varric could've hired for the job. Varric paid him what he was worth too, and the man never complained. Hawke knocked on the office door, which was locked this early.

The sound of a rolling chair and then the door opened. Varric glanced up. "Hawke," he acknowledged and rolled back.

Hawke slipped in, letting the door shut behind him. The safe door was open, stacks of money laid out on the desk. He sat on the other chair, leaning back while Varric finished his count. He dropped a stack of money through an automatic bill counter and then again, typing a few things into the store's computer. Hawke knew better than to interrupt him until he was completely finished. Cooking books was something Varric was very good at, and as Hawke didn't have much of a mind for paperwork, he would wait patiently.

It didn't take long, Varric dividing the money, stashing quite a bit in the safe, more in a bank drop box, and the last in a white canvas bag before putting that in a black backpack at his feet. He took the pencil from behind his ear, licked the tip and scribbled a few things down on a piece of paper and handed the paper to Hawke. Hawke took it, looking at the rather substantial figure, and grinned.

"Very nice, Varric," he said, ripping the paper up into tiny pieces before tossing it in the trash. "I'll be swinging by Aveline's today to see if she's got anyone out on Meeran now we know he's back in the city."

"Mmhm," Varric said, sitting back, putting his feet up on the desk. He glanced up to the CCTV monitors, full color with sound, though it was muted right now. The prep team was fooling around, but they would get their work done. The Hanged Man was always a relaxed atmosphere.

"And," Hawke started, "I thought I would go with another Escalade. I really liked that car." He'd browsed last week, but hadn't made a decision yet. "You know a decent mechanic?"

Varric lifted an eyebrow. "Mechanic for what?"

"Anders' car's been sitting out front of his apartment for days now. If it doesn't get fixed, he'll probably get a ticket." Not that Hawke couldn't make that go away with one convenient call to the viscount's office. "Plus he doesn't like asking for rides. And after what happened with Fenris…"

Varric leaned back, pulling his rolodex from the counter. It was a quirk of his, Hawke thought. Everyone had embraced the advances in technology, and Varric had too, but he also kept things on paper. Easier, he said, though Hawke wasn't sure what he meant by that. Varric plucked a business card out and handed it to him. Hawke reached forward and took it.

"Thanks," Hawke said, glancing at it before tucking it in his shirt pocket.

Varric nodded a little, eyes trained on Hawke's shirt.

"What?" Hawke asked. "I know you want to say something."

"Walk of shame."

Hawke scoffed. "It's only the walk of shame if you feel shameful," he said, brushing his shirt off. It suffered only a few wrinkles.

"No juicy details?"

"No," Hawke said defiantly. "Besides," he added, shrugging and leaning back, "we didn't… y'know."

Now Varric looked interested. "No?"

Hawke shrugged. "It's personal. His story to tell, not mine. We're waiting." He hoped not too long. But the thought of kissing Anders all night wasn't an unwelcome one either. "Oh, get this. His brother? Aveline's detective. The one they call Justice."

Varric let out a low whistle. "Playing with fire, Hawke. You sure you know what you're doing?"

Scowling, Hawke leaned forward again, elbows resting on his knees. "Yes. Besides, what's Anders going to tell him? That he helped Fenris after he got mugged? That my uncle is a crazy person? And Sebastian's injuries _were_ the results of a car crash," he said. "Aveline won't look twice at any of that shit. She's got the Red Iron making trouble for her now." And as much as he hated Meeran and would take that bastard down, he was a little grateful that Aveline was out of his hair for the moment.

"Oh speaking of," Varric said, and dropped his feet, moving to the filing cabinet. He pulled out a file and frisbee'd it to Hawke, who caught it against his chest.

Hawke opened it, looking at it. "What's this?"

"Found your DUI guy."

"No shit?" He flipped through it. It was a mechanic's report and pictures of the front end. Hawke had never seen the other car – truck. And a damn big one. No wonder it flipped his SUV. He looked at the person who signed the repair bill. "Who the fuck is Varnell?"

"Thought you'd ask, so I did some digging. Turns out he's an ex-templar-"

"Fuck."

"-who used to work at your boy's hospital, making sure mages didn't use magic on patients."

Hawke's eyes narrowed. "Are you telling me this wasn't a DUI?"

Varric shrugged, pursing his lips. "I can't say for sure, but it's a damn good bet someone was watching you that night."

Hawke closed the folder and handed it back to Varric. "Fucking templars. This doesn't have anything to do with them. Why would they flip my car?"

"Maybe to get to Sebastian? I don't know, Hawke."

"I'll talk to him, see if he's got any shit he brought with him to my city." If Sebastian was endangering his family just by being here, well… "What did Varnell get sacked for?"

"Disorderly conduct with a mage accused of using magic while transferring them to the Gallows."

"Kill the pretty words," Hawke said.

"He raped a girl."

Hawke's fists clenched. "Why is this fucker not behind bars?"

"Maybe you missed the part where he was a templar?"

"Fucking…" Hawke gritted his teeth. He didn't have anything personal against Varnell. Yet. But even if this was Sebastian's baggage, Hawke would gladly hunt Varnell down and show him exactly what he thought of people like him. "All right." He took a few deep breaths, checking his anger. "When did you find this out?"

Varric shrugged. "Reports came in last night."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Pardon me," Varric said sarcastically. "I thought you would've appreciated a little alone time with Blondie."

Hawke had. If Varric called him, he probably would've gone right away to start searching for Varnell. The night would've been… well, not ruined, but not as nice as it had been. 

"Call me from now on," he said, even though he knew Varric would continue to use his best judgment. There wouldn't have been anything he could've really done last night about Varnell that couldn't have been put off until today.

"Right. So. Plans?"

Hawke sighed, scratching at his beard. "The Meeran thing and now the Varnell thing. The mechanic. And I have to drop by the furniture place."

"I thought Blondie got pissed when you bought him a couch."

"I'm not buying him another couch."

"So…"

"His bed is practically falling apart."

Varric stared at him, his expression clearly stating he thought Hawke was an idiot.

"What?" Hawke asked defensively.

"Nothing, nothing," Varric said with a sigh. "I'll put some people on Meeran and see if we can't sniff out a location."

Hawke stood, gripping Varric's hand. "I'll call you later," he promised, and headed out. He had shopping to do.


	36. Chapter 36

"I swear, Hawke, I've never heard of him," Sebastian said.

They were standing outside Anders' apartment building, Hawke supervising the removal of the old nearly-broken mattress and box spring and the setting up of the new one. He told them to put the new bed in the exact same place with the exact same sheets. A little voice in the back of his head whispered that Anders might not like the idea of people in his apartment when he wasn't there. But it wasn't as if Hawke was clearing the place out and completely redecorating. It was just a new bed so they'd be comfortable. He wondered if they would be able to break it in tonight.

After making the trip to the car dealership to have the new Escalade driven to the estate, and then the furniture store, he picked up Sebastian for a drive.

"None of your buddies know him either?" Hawke asked, referring to Sebastian's Chantry connections.

"I'll look into it, of course," Sebastian assured him. "It sounds like he's Kirkwall trained."

"Hmph." Hawke paid the moving men when they came downstairs, tipping them for their speedy delivery. "You lock the door?" he asked, and they nodded. "Cat didn't get out?"

Anders might be able to forgive him for a couch or a bed, but if Hawke lost that cat… The men assured him the door wasn't open that long and Hawke waved them off. Now he just had to wait for the mechanic to show up. If he thought he could get away with just buying Anders a car or letting him borrow one of his, Hawke would've done so already. The only thing left was to replace the TV, but he would bring Anders with him to help pick one out they both liked. It would be sort of like shopping for curtains which, Hawke thought remembering the cracked blinds, Anders could likely use some of those as well. Next time.

"So," Sebastian said, leaning forward on his crutches, "do you think Meeran hired this man?"

"Dunno," Hawke said off-handedly. "I didn't think Meeran had contacts like that." He frowned. "St. Elthina's."

"What about it?"

"That's where Varnell was working before he got sacked. It's Anders' hospital." It made Hawke a bit paranoid. A mage girl working at the hospital, caught using her magic and transferred to the Gallows. And her escort was a lone male templar. It seemed a bit… wrong. "What's the procedure for locking up a mage for using magic?"

Sebastian frowned. "Due process. There's an investigation just like any other crime. The mage is taken from their profession, put on suspension if the offense was done in the workplace and held in prison. If they're a flight risk, bail is denied. It's all very by the book," he said, almost sounding defensive.

"I know you have a hard on for men in uniform," Hawke said, ignoring Sebastian's glare. "Why would Varnell ever be alone with that girl? Who would allow that?"

"His direct supervisor would be in charge of the paperwork, I'd imagine. Either them or the director of the hospital, perhaps. You Kirkwallers do things a little differently than we do."

Hawke bristled at being called a Kirkwaller. Though he'd spent a lot of his life in the Free Marches, he was born in Ferelden, had fond memories of it. He let it go, turning as a beat up old truck pulled up, the mechanic's logo on the side. "Just a second," he said to Sebastian. He negotiated with the driver for a few minutes, pointed out the car, and then walked back. "We can get out of here. It's going to take him probably a few hours."

They crossed the street to Hawke's car and Hawke waited until Sebastian was settled, crutches in the back. He stared at him a moment, and Sebastian rolled his eyes before pulling his seatbelt on.

"Damn straight," Hawke muttered, and drove off in the direction of the hospital.

"What are you planning to do?" Sebastian asked.

"Sweet talk my way into some information," Hawke replied. "Or have you do it while I check some records. The hospital has to have something on Varnell and what happened. I'd look into the news archives, but…"

"Not very reliable," Sebastian agreed. "When we get there?"

Hawke sighed, thinking, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "I'll need a private room with a computer. Merill's designed this thing that cracks passwords. It's in the glove compartment."

Sebastian opened it up and sifted around, pulling out a USB device the size and shape of a flash drive. Hawke glanced over.

"Yeah, that's it. So I'll use that to get into the system and see what I can find in the records. If Varnell's supervisor is still working here, maybe we can get some dirt on him and get him thrown out."

"He could be innocent in all of this," Sebastian suggested lightly.

"No," Hawke replied.

"You're so sure?"

"One of my guys fucks up on a job. Kills an innocent person. Who's to blame?"

Sebastian frowned. "You can't be held responsible for something-"

Hawke scowled. "I still have to make reparations."

"Your conscience-"

"Fuck that," Hawke said. "It's what's right. If your people fuck up, you fuck up. It's as simple as that. Varnell's supervisor should've made sure he wasn't a rapist. Or gotten a woman templar to take the girl in. Or anything but leaving her in the 'care' of a guy like that. Even if he wasn't involved, even if he had no idea what was going on, he's still responsible. If he didn't get so much as a pay cut, it's corrupt." He seethed, breathing a bit heavily now, gripping the steering wheel. He inherited his father's hatred of the Chantry, but that didn't mean it wasn't justified. "What if it was Bethany?" he said, and glanced to Sebastian.

Sebastian frowned. "That… I had not thought of it that way. I apologize."

"Yeah," Hawke said quietly. "…You and her, uh…"

"Hawke, I'm not going to discuss that with you, I'm sorry."

Hawke made a face. "Ugh, no. I don't want details, pervert. I'm looking out for my sister. Are you planning on… I don't know. What _are_ you planning on?"

"I… am not sure."

"Are you going to fuck other people while you're with her?"

It was funny, before Anders, Hawke wouldn't have cared much about Sebastian's relationship with Bethany, so long as he didn't hurt her. Now it seemed he was asking if Sebastian was going to make an honest woman out of her. Maker, next he'd be wondering when they were going to get a house with a white picket fence and a dog.

"Only if she's participating as well," Sebastian said.

Hawke groaned. "Oh, fuck. Sebastian. Gross."

"You asked, Hawke."

"Are you going to marry her?" Hawke asked suddenly, looking at him again.

Sebastian's cheeks turned ruddy. "We're not at a point where we're discussing marriage. What about you and Anders?" he shot back, clearly wanting to make Hawke as uncomfortable as Hawke was making him.

Hawke shrugged. "Haven't thought about it. We're monogamous," he said, stressing the syllables. "It's what he wanted."

He felt Sebastian staring at him, and when he glanced again, he found he was right. Scowling, he pulled off the Imperial and turned a few side streets toward St. Elthina's.

"What, Choir Boy?" he growled.

"You used to be such a stud."

"I still am," Hawke said, pulling into the parking lot and yanking the handbrake. "I just… you know. Only pull into one port now."

Sebastian let out a laugh. "Make sure you tell Isabela."

Hawke rolled his eyes. "She's got plenty of ships for her port," he said, getting out. "Hurry up. I need you to use that leg of yours to our advantage."

Sebastian limped out, leaning on his crutches, shutting the door. "It's not the leg that'll do it," he said, drawing level with Hawke as they went into the hospital. "It's the accent."

Hawke scowled. Damn the bastard, he thought, he was probably right.


	37. Chapter 37

"You've never been to Starkhaven? You really should," Sebastian said, leaning on the counter, staring at the front desk clerk with his baby blue eyes, smiling in a way that it made his dimples show. He glanced at her cleavage and back up, and she grinned a little. "The river is gorgeous in the winter, as it starts to frost just a wee bit. If you're ever in town, I'd love to give you a _personal_ tour."

Maker, but he was smooth, Hawke thought as he easily slipped into the administration area. He calculated maybe twenty minutes he would need, and that was generous. As much as he worked with computers in his business, he wasn't the best at manipulating them. Merrill was much better than he was, but he hadn't thought to track her down before coming here. It would have to be good enough and, he figured, he could always try again later.

Picking an office at random, he poked his head inside. Empty. He shut the door, locking it, and closed the blinds on the window. Taking the USB device from his pocket, he knelt down and plugged it into the back of the computer before settling down in the chair. The screensaver of the hospital's logo disappeared and he found himself at the desktop once Merrill's software did its thing. Frowning a bit, he opened the browser to access the hospital's intranet.

"Well, thank the Maker for search bars," he muttered as he pulled up a list of the hospital's templars on staff.

And there were a lot. St. Elthina's was one of the largest hospitals in the Free Marches, and Hawke had no idea how many templars it would really take to look over its staff. Were they really that strict about the use of magic? Didn't they know they'd be able to improve their patient care if they just let mages… He shook his head and refocused, pulling up old accounts. He found the one he was looking for, and checked to make sure the printer was local before he printed out Varnell's file. All he needed was to send this to a printer across the hall or something.

Frowning, he clicked on the mage girl's name. Ella. Hawke pulled up her picture. She was kind of cute with her short black bob and dark skin. Her eyes were round and pretty, but she looked a little young for Hawke's tastes. And, looking at her date of birth, he realized why. The girl was only fourteen when she was brought on as a volunteer, trying to get experience for school. She wanted to be a heart surgeon, apparently. And she was arrested a year later on the charge of using magic on patient who was suffering a stroke.

_He raped a fifteen year old girl._

Hawke's mind entertained a vicious revenge fantasy style execution with Varnell in pieces by the end of it. He'd let Sebastian _and_ Fenris have a go at this useless waste of flesh. And hell, even Isabela too. Maker knew her girls had suffered at the hands of guys like Varnell before. He printed out Ella's file as well and was about to close the whole thing down when he tapped a finger on the mouse, debating.

_What harm could it do?_

Feeling a little sheepish, he pulled up Anders' records and grinned at the goofy picture that displayed on screen. There wasn't really anything in the file that he didn't already know, personal details, date of birth, medical records. He'd had a prostate exam last year, apparently, and an STD screening. Hawke thought perhaps since he was in the hospital he should go perform a quick pee test just in case. Not that he thought he was at risk for anything. Isabela was clean and so were her girls. Never hurt to be sure though. And he was fairly certain Anders would want to-

The sound of the doorknob rattling startled him. Quickly he shut the monitor off and grabbed the papers, folding them and tucking them in his inside coat pocket. Just as the keys entered the lock, he was settling on the other side of the desk, legs crossed at the knee, trying to look as if he'd been merely waiting.

"It's about time. I thought I was-" He turned, stopping mid-sentence.

"Hawke?" It was Anders, looking perplexed to see him.

_Shit._

Now he couldn't use his, 'I thought this was a waiting room and by the way can you look at this rash,' excuse he had planned in case of something like this. Hawke licked his lips, trying to think of a new reason for why he'd be in an administrative office that was pretty clearly off limits to the general public. Anders stepped inside, shifting the folder he was holding to his other hand and shut the door. Hawke looked him up and down. He really was quite sexy in his tie and white coat, a badge with that same goofy picture attached to the pocket.

_Shit,_ he thought again. If Anders turned on the monitor, he would know Hawke used the computer. And he'd left Anders' file up. Anders would think he was spying on him. Which, well, that wasn't very far from the truth, but would Anders believe it wasn't malicious? His eyes flicked to the computer on the floor and back up. At least the drive wouldn't be found, and he could drop a pencil or something as a cover to yank it from the back.

"I… wanted to see you?" Hawke said, though it wasn't very convincing.

Anders raised an eyebrow, obviously not believing him, and moved toward the desk. Hawke stood quickly, blocking him, reaching out to take him around the waist.

"Hawke!" Anders protested. "I'm working."

"And the blinds are shut," Hawke purred, pulling him close. He smirked a little when Anders allowed a kiss.

"Mm, and I don't want to get fired," Anders said, pushing him away and to the side. He sat down.

"Wait!"

"Hawke, what? I'm a little busy."

"I uh. I wasn't spying on you," Hawke said quickly. Damn it, what happened to his smoothness? He used to be able to get into and out of any situation without sounding like a fool.

Anders made a face before turning on the monitor. His eyes widened a little. "Oh…" He frowned.

"I swear I wasn't spying," Hawke said again, wincing.

"So… I guess you figured it out then," Anders said, sighing.

_What?_ "Um."

Anders looked up at him. "I didn't think it was a big deal, considering your father and sister."

"My… what?"

"You know," Anders sighed. "My being a mage. It's why Sebastian offered me a job. Not my medical training. Well, part of it, I suppose. But mostly the… the magic. Did Bethany tell you? Or Merrill?"

_Son of a bitch._ Hawke hadn't known. And from the sound of it, he was one of the last ones to find out. He would be having a conversation with his dear sister when he got back home.

"Are you angry?" Anders asked quietly.

Anders looked so upset, as if Hawke was going to start yelling or end their relationship just because he was a mage. Or worse, be disgusted with him. Hawke moved around the desk, leaning down, gripping either arm of the chair. Anders sat back, looking up at him with trepidation.

"No," Hawke said evenly. "It doesn't matter to me if you're a mage."

Anders let out a relieved sigh. "Because I-"

Hawke kissed him hard, pressing him back. Anders, surprised, returned it, lips parting under Hawke's demanding mouth. Hawke thrust his tongue past them, enjoying the moan from Anders. Shaking hands came up to his chest, gripping his coat. Hawke broke the kiss and nuzzled his head aside, nipping down his neck, tongue flicking over the skin. Anders let out a quiet gasp, tilting his chin up. Hawke reached up, loosening the tie, unbuttoning the top button and moved down.

"Hawke," Anders choked out, slightly strangled. "Hawke…"

Hawke growled in his ear. "Never wanted to suck a cock more than right now."

"Oh _Maker,_ " Anders whined. "Stop. Please."

Hawke relented, pulling back, looking down at him. He looked flushed, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded. And, if Hawke did say so himself, completely turned on. He glanced down at Anders' crotch, smirking to see the fabric tenting just a little. Anders blushed and grabbed the file he brought in, covering himself. Hawke straightened, eyebrow quirked.

"You're fucking gorgeous," Hawke said, leaning forward to flick Anders' badge. "Goofy smile and all."

"Ugh, it's such a bad picture," Anders said, but looked pleased. "Really though… you could have asked me. Could you… next time, just trust me?"

Hawke leaned in and kissed him gently. "I will. I'm sorry," he added.

Anders seemed to melt a bit, and pulled him back down for another kiss. "I… pick me up at the end of my shift?" he asked, going a bit pink. "And maybe we can get dinner on the way? You're not… busy tonight, are you?"

Hawke thought about the files in his coat pocket. "Not too busy for you."

Anders scoffed. "Don't do that."

"In that case, I might be. But dinner sounds good anyway. I'll need a break from what I'm working on."

"You don't… have to lie to me, you know," Anders said. "I know you can't always tell me everything. But just say that instead of lying, okay?"

Hawke found himself nodding, and Anders kissed him again before pushing him away and fixing his tie.

"Now go. I really do have a lot of work to do."

Hawke left, remembering too late he'd left the password cracker in the computer. With any luck they'd think it was just a regular flash drive and toss it in the lost and found. He walked back down the hall to find Sebastian where he'd left him, and took him by the arm, glaring at the clerk.

"Sorry, sweetheart, this one's taken," he said.

She looked from Sebastian to Hawke and blushed. "Oh! Pardon."

Hawke enjoyed the indignant look on Sebastian's face before he walked away, letting him hobble after.

"There were more tactful ways of handling that," Sebastian protested.

"But my way was funnier," Hawke replied lightly. "Besides, you suck at your distraction. Anders walked in halfway through what I was doing."

Sebastian swore. "What happened?"

Hawke debated saying, 'We had hot office sex on the desk.' If it was Carver or even Fenris he might have done so in order to cause them discomfort, but he doubted Sebastian would even blink. "He thought I was trying to find information on him. Which, by the way," he added, "you should have told me he was a mage. I'll let it go, though. Just don't try to recruit him again. He's mine."

The last two words inadvertently came out a growl, and that _did_ cause Sebastian to blink.

"Of course, Hawke," Sebastian said lightly. "What did you find out?"

Hawke told him about Varnell and Ella.

Sebastian swore again. "So young… Anything about his supervisor?"

"No. But if Ella was incarcerated anyway, I know my next stop. Should I drop you off home or did you want to come with me to see Aveline?"

Sebastian frowned. "As much as I enjoy the captain's company…"

"Right, right," Hawke said, sliding into the car. "Home it is."


	38. Chapter 38

It took only a few minutes to transfer the necessities from the Stingray to the new Escalade, Hawke feeling much better driving the SUV. He did wonder if driving the same model car would make it easier for Varnell and Meeran to find him. A part of him hoped so, and that when they did, he'd be ready to repay them for all the shit they put his family through in the last week. He parked, pulling the folded papers from his coat as he entered the precinct.

"Oh, yes, it has come as a bit of a surprise," someone was saying.

Hawke frowned. Fereldan accent coming from Aveline's office. He couldn't place the voice, but when he turned the corner to look in, he recognized the man.

"Hawke," Aveline acknowledged, looking up at him.

The man turned. Captain Cullen was out of the precinct that handled most of Hightown's issues, of which there weren't many. Hawke never had a real problem with the guy; there was just something about him that rubbed Hawke the wrong way. Slowly he lowered the files, folding them surreptitiously. These were for Aveline's eyes only. He would have to do enough hand-waving in order to convince her that sneaking hospital records was a good thing. He didn't want to have to explain himself to Cullen of all people as well.

"Oh. Mr. Hawke," Cullen said. "It is nice to see you again."

Hawke noticed the suitcase at his feet. "Vacation?"

"Hardly," Cullen said with a pleased sort of grin. "I've been transferred to the templars."

"Oh yeah? I didn't realize there was a spot open for Head Douchebag."

Aveline massaged her forehead, groaning, as Cullen went red.

"Bon voyage," Hawke said, dropping into a chair across from Aveline.

Aveline looked up at Cullen somewhat apologetically. "Please excuse Hawke. He was raised by dogs."

"Flying ones," Hawke agreed.

"Congratulations again on your transfer," Aveline said.

"Thank you. I hope they find a replacement for me soon so you'll be spared the headaches."

"Think I'll manage," Aveline said, rising a bit to shake his hand.

Cullen took up his suitcase and stopped at the door. "Mr. Hawke," he said by way of farewell, and left.

"'Mr. Hawke,'" Hawke mimicked. "Ugh."

Aveline glared at him. "You really enjoy making my job that much harder, don't you?"

Hawke grinned. "How long have we known each other again?" He tossed the files on her desk.

"Too long," Aveline said. "I was thinking about moving to Orlais just to get away from you." She reached forward to take the papers up, unfolding them.

"You don't want to move to Orlais," Hawke said. "Too many Orlesians. Besides, you like what I do for your city and you know it."

"I'd like it better if you figured out this Red Iron business. There was another hit."

"Anyone I know?" Hawke asked, leaning back, and started to lift a boot to put it on her desk.

"Tomwise."

Hawke's foot slipped to the floor with a thud. He felt an icy coldness in his gut, and his eyes narrowed. He'd been annoyed before, maybe a little irritated. Now? Now he was pissed. Tomwise was one of his, working closely under Merrill to help her with surveillance. He assisted with the occasional poison as well, whenever Hawke couldn't get what he wanted from Sandal.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Aveline handed him a folder, and Hawke took it. The head of Tomwise sat on a garbage pail, his body on the ground, shirt torn open with a bloody "I" carved into his chest. Hawke looked at it, feeling sick and beyond livid. He would have to push his investigation harder now, pull everyone off anything that wasn't vital and redouble the search for the son of a bitch Meeran and his crew. Busting down doors in Darktown seemed like a good idea, but going in half-cocked was a good way to get shot.

He closed the file and placed it back on the desk, looking up at her. "You might not be able to arrest Meeran once I'm done with him," he said.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," she replied coolly.

Hawke stood and slammed the office door shut, the blinds on the window rattling. "DAMN IT!"

"Calm down, Hawke."

"Fuck you, I am calm!" he yelled.

Aveline sighed, lifting the papers he'd brought. "What are these?"

Hawke flexed his fingers, balling them into fists and then releasing. "Varnell is the bastard who-"

The door opened suddenly. "Captain, are you okay-"

Oh this was exactly what he needed. Detective Justice on the case. Hawke met his glare. Justice stepped into the room, almost into Hawke's personal space.

"You don't want to fucking test me right now," Hawke hissed. "Back off."

"You were yelling at my capt-"

"Stand down, detective, it's fine," Aveline said calmly.

Justice huffed, glaring at Hawke, but stepped back. He looked at Aveline. "If you're sure, captain."

"Yes."

Justice looked as if he wanted to stay, but wouldn't disobey Aveline. He was disgustingly obedient that way, like a trained dog. He turned on his heel. 

Hawke couldn't resist, taking a step out into the hall to call after him. "Hey, let me borrow your cuffs so I can tie your brother up later when I FUCK HIM!"

Wrong thing to say. Justice wheeled around and came at him full force. Hawke wasn't expecting the strength of the fist that met his jaw and, standing in the doorway , fell back cracking his head against the doorjamb. He saw stars. And while he didn't have a glass jaw, had taken several punches in his line of work, the double hit made him woozy. He staggered and fell to a knee, hearing Aveline's ordered cry. Apparently Justice's obedience didn't extend to threats against his brother, and he grabbed Hawke by the collar, hoisted him up, and punched him again.

Hawke went down hard, grunting as his shoulder hit the ground. His nose was broken or at least bleeding, but he had strength enough to look up as Aveline charged Justice, slamming him against the wall opposite her door. Justice let out an, _oof_ as he had the wind knocked out of him. Not for nothing was Aveline the captain of the most difficult precinct in Kirkwall. Hawke had seen her fight _and_ shoot, and when she wasn't on duty, she was working out with Donnic to keep in form since her job now was mostly paperwork.

She was cuffing Justice, and Hawke thought how sweet vengeance tasted. It was about damn time Justice got his own back. He slowly got to his feet, wincing as he touched his nose. Definitely broken. He felt dizzy and touched the back of his head. His fingers were wet with blood, and he turned to look at the doorjamb. There was a red smear on it, and he wanted to punch Justice in the face for that.

"Fucking prick," he muttered.

"Degenerate miscreant!"

Hawke laughed. "Pathetic."

"Stop it!" Aveline snarled, yanking Justice away and into an office down the hall. "Just… sit and wait until I decide what to do with you. If you're lucky, Mr. Hawke won't press charges!" She slammed the door and went back to Hawke. "Let me see your head."

He knew better than to argue at this point, and let her look at it, hissing when she touched. "Ow!"

"Baby," she said. "But it'll need stitches." She went back into her office and pulled out a first aid kit, handing him a few thick gauze pads. "Here. Press that against it. I'll have someone drive you to the hospital."

Hawke snatched them from her hand and winced again pressing them to his head. "I won't press charges." It was more for Anders' sake than Justice's, though.

Aveline huffed. "Good. Did you have to goad him like that? And what are you even talking about? How do you know his brother?"

"We uh. Are sort of dating."

Aveline raised an eyebrow. "Dating? As in…"

"Dinner, movies, whole nine yards," Hawke replied. "Hey, my head is bleeding. I think that's important."

Aveline scowled and pressed the intercom. "Brennan."

"Yes, captain?"

"Take Mr. Hawke to St. Elthina's. Have them check for brain damage. More than what he already has, I mean."

"Hah," Hawke said, clutching his side sarcastically. "Here I thought you were a police officer, not a stand-up comedian."

"Call me later about those files," she said.

"Will do," Hawke replied, and walked to the front where Brennan was waiting to take him to the hospital.

At least he'd get to see Anders again.


	39. Chapter 39

Hawke lay face down, wincing a bit as the doctor washed off and stitched up his head. He couldn't help but think that maybe he should've waited until he picked Anders up and got him to close it with magic. But making the precinct pay for his treatment, perhaps taking it out of Justice's paycheck, was one reason he was happy to endure the frustration. While he sat in the waiting room he texted Varric to give him the information he'd found about Varnell and Ella, and let Aveline know that an ex-templar might be involved with the Red Iron as well now. He of course, did not tell her why he thought that and she didn't ask.

The door opened.

"Hawke!"

A shuffling of feet and Anders appeared below him, touching his shoulder, looking up at him in concern. Hawke smiled.

"Hey," Hawke said, gesturing to the doctor stitching him up, "I asked for the most handsome doctor on staff, but they just gave me this guy instead. Where were they hiding you?"

Anders shook his head with an exasperated smile, then looked apologetically to his coworker. "Sorry, he's incorrigible," he said, the grip on Hawke's shoulder tightening just a bit. "What happened?"

Hawke wondered what he should tell him. "So you didn't hear about my heroic rescue of the kitten in the tree? See, I was climbing and I slipped and fell and banged my head against the sidewalk. Kitten's okay though. Sorry I wasn't able to capture him for you."

Anders sighed. "And the real story?"

Hawke frowned. "Your dickhead brother punched me in the face. Hit my head against the door."

Anders' lips went thin. "All of this?" he asked, gesturing to his nose, not wanting to touch Hawke's.

"I bet I look like a sight," Hawke said. "Okay, fine. He got me twice. I was trying to pick myself up off the floor when he sucker punched me again."

"Why?" Anders asked gently.

"Aw, come on, it's fine." As much as Hawke disliked Justice, an emotion that was quickly growing into hatred, he didn't want to cause any more strife between him and Anders. And it was a new sort of conundrum for him. Normally he didn't care who he pissed off by lying or telling the truth to. But he didn't want to lie to Anders, nor did he want to tell him the truth.

"Is it because of this morning?"

"All done," the doctor said, helping Hawke to sit. "I'm sure Dr. Anders can give you a rundown of how to take care of them."

Anders smiled, thanking him, and waited for him to leave before turning back to Hawke. "Is it?"

"Maker, but you're persistent," Hawke said, sliding off the table, letting Anders steady him though he didn't need it. "Sort of. I kind of goaded him into it."

Anders sighed. "He still shouldn't have hit you. I'll talk to him."

Hawke kissed him, wincing at the pain in his face. "Really, don't. Look, why don't you come back to the precinct with me and Brennan? You can take me home. I'm not supposed to be driving or some shit."

Anders smiled. "They only tell you that to avoid liability. If they didn't and you crashed, you could sue the hospital."

"Well damn it," Hawke said, pulling him close, arm wrapped tightly around him. "There goes my master plan to take over the hospital."

Anders laughed, glancing at the door before leaning in to kiss the side of Hawke's neck, then to nip his earlobe, avoiding the bruises on his face. "You'd be a better director than our current one."

"Maker, no," Hawke said. "I'd be awful. Constantly calling you into my office all day to fuck you on my desk. No work would ever get done."

Anders blushed a little. "And what if I wanted to fuck you?"

Hawke blinked. He'd never thought about that. Isabela had brought it up jokingly a few times, something about a strap-on, but nothing ever came of it. Anders' face fell a little at his expression.

"Mood-killer?"

Hawke kissed his forehead. "Not at all. Just not something I ever thought I'd be contemplating. We'll see how it goes." He wondered now if Anders had done that with his previous lover, if Anders preferred it that way. He didn't want to play second fiddle to a corpse. "Come to the precinct with me."

Anders checked the time. "Give me fifteen minutes."

Hawke gave him one last kiss before going to the waiting room to inform Brennan – and it was funny he remembered her name now – that they were going to stick around for a bit. She was agreeable as he knew she would be, and settled down once again. After all, he supposed, she was getting paid to read magazines now instead of doing any actual work. Hawke wandered to the gift shop and bought a single white rose out of impulse. His phone rang just as he was paying for it.

"Hawke, I got some news," Varric said as he brought the phone to his ear. "Your guy Varnell? He's a bit of a vigilante now."

"So definitely working for so-and-so," Hawke said guardedly. There were too many ears here.

"Yep. Where are you?"

"Hospital."

Varric swore. "Are you all- Oh. You're picking up Blondie."

Hawke grinned. "I like that your first thought was my overall well-being. I'm touched. Actually I had to get stitches, nothing serious."

"What the hell happened?"

Hawke moved out of the gift shop to wait in the lobby. "You remember how I told you that Anders' brother was that cop, Justice? He punched me in the face and my head is extra-bouncy."

Varric paused, then laughed. "Oh… Well."

Hawke winced. "So much for the touching concern."

"Put him on ice?"

"What?! Maker, no, Varric! It was just a, 'You touch my brother, I'll kick your fucking ass' kind of thing. He's probably wanted to do that for a long time now anyway. I'll let him slide just this once."

"On account of you wanting to get into his brother's pants."

Hawke spared a thought for Anders' pants. He grinned, remembering the way Anders blushed whenever Hawke said something suggestive. "Something like that. Hey, can you blame me?"

"Well, Blondie is a fine piece of ass."

Hawke scowled. "Hands off."

"Nothing wrong with looking."

"You don't swing that way."

"Far as you know," Varric said candidly.

Hawke hadn't even given much thought for Varric's love life. In fact, he couldn't remember ever meeting Bianca's mother. What if Varric stole the kid? Hawke decided it wouldn't bother him much. Varric was a better father than most of the deadbeats that were out there.

"So tell me about our guy."

Varric cleared his throat. "Before he worked at St. Elthina's he was a mage-catcher for several different businesses. Think 'secret shopper' but with more douchebaggery. He was recommended to the hospital on account of his extremely impressive numbers. Petrice, the director of the hospital that is, hired him directly. He's pretty ruthless in his methods. Not all of them orthodox. Had four counts of misconduct in the hospital alone before he was discharged."

"Misconduct."

"Not as harsh as that poor girl. But yeah, he was known for being a bit brutal. Seems like he was Petrice's personal pet. Rumors of an affair, blah, blah, blah."

"Did she handle overseeing his long overdue departure?" Hawke asked, turning the rose in his fingers idly.

"Actually she did. She turned on him in the end. Might not have been the steamy office romance the rumors made it out to be. But get this. She doesn't handle assigning templars to mages that are taken in."

Hawke frowned. Petrice was still responsible, in his opinion. The head of an organization needed to know what its fingers were doing. "So who gets that cheery responsibility?"

"The templars' direct supervisor. The guy who's in charge of all the others."

"Don't keep us in suspense."

"A guy name Alrik."

"Alrik?" Hawke asked, and turned when he heard the name echoed.

Anders was standing there, changed into street clothes, backpack in hand. He looked white as a ghost.

Hawke frowned. "Gotta go. Call you back," he said, hanging up without taking his eyes off Anders. "What is it?"

"What do you have to do with Alrik?" Anders asked, stepping back when Hawke reached out.

"Nothing," Hawke said. "It's… I'm looking into his name in relation to business."

Anders swallowed and then whispered, "Good. I hope you kill the bastard."

Hawke blinked, and watched as Anders strode out of the hospital, leaving him to wonder just what in the hell that was about.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for past non-con/non-con recollection.

Brennan dropped them off at the precinct, Hawke telling her to let Aveline know he'd call her or stop by later, and now he was sitting in the passenger seat of his SUV, waiting for Anders. He'd asked Hawke to give him ten minutes to talk to Justice, and though Hawke really didn't like the idea of leaving Anders when he seemed so upset, he agreed without argument. He was turning his phone over in his hand, balancing it on his thigh, letting his fingers slide over it before flipping it again. His other arm was against the door, fist pressed against his lips, waiting. He perked up when Anders came around the corner, but frowned. Anders ' eyes were red, and Hawke couldn't remember seeing him this upset before. He was about to get out of the car for round two with Justice when Anders wrenched open the driver's side door.

"Keys," he choked, holding his hand out.

Hawke dropped them in his hand. "Anders…"

"Just. Give me a minute."

Hawke fell silent, letting Anders collect himself. Anders pulled on his seatbelt and started the engine, pulled out of the lot, and drove. Hawke hesitated but reached over and touched his elbow. Anders dropped his hand from the steering wheel, palm up. Hawke took that as an invitation, slid his hand over Anders' and entwined their fingers. At least whatever it was, Anders didn't appear to be angry with him. He stayed silent, looking at the white rose he'd tossed on the dashboard.

"Are you hungry?" Anders managed.

"A bit, I guess." Hawke had been too busy to really eat that day.

Anders took a few deep breaths and pulled into the drive-thru of a fast food place. The line was long, which gave him time to get his thoughts together, and Hawke waited patiently.

"Justice won't bother you anymore," he said at last.

That really hadn't been what Hawke was worried about. "Thank you." He didn't need Anders to protect him from Justice of all people. And Aveline would see to it that the detective was properly reprimanded. But it would make Anders feel better to think he had some modicum of control over the situation.

"I… I'm sorry I got angry. It wasn't at you."

"I gathered," Hawke said, squeezing his hand. "Do you want to tell me what happened? Something with you and Alrik?"

Anders flinched at the name. "Why are you looking into him?"

Hawke frowned. "It's business."

"Fine."

Hawke sighed and pulled his hand away. Anders told him not to lie, but it seemed like he was going to hold the truth against him, at least unless he was told the whole of it. But it wasn't a good idea to share this with him. The less Anders knew about the Red Iron and Meeran and Varnell, the better. And if Varnell was a renegade ex-templar, chances are he would take extreme measures against any mages. It counted out any kind of tracking spells Hawke might use.

"Get mad at me if you want," Hawke said finally. "I really don't feel like putting you in danger."

Anders sighed, pulling forward as the line moved, then turned to look at him. "Alrik's a sadist."

Hawke frowned. "I'm guessing you don't mean bedroom stuff."

"He likes to push mages in the hospital into using their magic so he can have a legitimate excuse to throw them into the Gallows."

"Son of a bitch," Hawke sighed. "What the hell does that even accomplish?"

"Mage-free society," Anders said bitterly, turning back. His eyes flicked to the white rose.

Hawke, feeling it was a bit silly now, shrugged. "I bought it for you." He'd never bought flowers before for anyone, not even his mother. Well, he'd ordered his people to send flowers to the families of those who got hurt or died in his service. Which reminded him – he took out his phone and sent a text to Fenris to make sure Tomwise's family was safe, and a dollar amount for reparations. It wouldn't bring him back, but he would make sure his man's family was taken care of.

"I…" Anders put the car in park and leaned over, kissing him.

Hawke winced, his nose still sore, jaw still aching, but he returned the kiss nonetheless.

"Sorry," Anders breathed, settling back down.

"Don't be."

Anders pulled forward again and ordered for the both of them. Hawke smirked, taking out his wallet. Anders looked at it when Hawke handed it over. He ignored it and took out his own, paid, and pulled forward again to get the bag. Hawke snorted, slipping his wallet back in his coat.

"It's not like I don't have money to spare," he said.

Anders' jaw twitched. "Stop treating me like I'm charity case."

Hawke sighed and fell silent. He'd never get used to Anders' refusal to let him buy things for him. He didn't understand it. The one person he actually wanted to shower with gifts and Anders was stubborn as a mule. Instead, he rooted through the bag to munch on a few fries. They were almost to Anders' neighborhood when Anders finally spoke.

"I had a run-in with Alrik. Almost two years ago."

Hawke closed the bag, giving him his undivided attention, knowing he wouldn't like whatever was coming next.

"I was… in the supply closet, getting something. I can't even remember," Anders whispered. He ran a shaking hand up through his hair, strands of which came loose from his tie, falling around his face.

He pulled over and parked, still a few blocks from his apartment. Hawke could see his shoulders shaking a bit, and set the bag of food on the floor, unbuckling his belt so he could turn fully to look at him. Anders was rigid, gripping the steering wheel. Staring, but unseeing.

"The door shut behind him and he… he grabbed me around the waist. I dropped something glass. I can remember it shattering on the floor." His voice was barely a whisper now. "I told him to let me go, and he pressed his lips right to my ear. He said, 'Make me, you mage whore.'" Anders closed his eyes, breathing heavily. "I thought about screaming, but that closet, no one ever really goes down that hall unless they need the supplies, so I didn't-" He swallowed. "I didn't think anyone would hear me. I tried to shove him back, but he-"

Anders broke off with a sob. Hawke reached out, but stopped. Anders dropped his head to the steering wheel, taking several deep breaths.

"He shoved me against the shelf, pressed my face into the wire rack and got his hand into my pants." Anders was nearly inaudible now. "He… touched me. The entire time telling me that if I just used magic, I could force him away. That was all I had to do. He said… he said I was a whore because I wanted it."

Hawke felt a cold fury unlike he'd ever felt before come over him. Anders' shoulders hitched and he sat up, tears streaming down his cheeks as he leaned his head against the headrest, looking up.

"Maker… I came in my pants. I didn't want to. I felt so… disgusting after it. He wiped his hand off on my coat. Told me he'd get me next time and left me there. I… I don't even know how long I sat in that supply closet, crying, too scared to come out." He wiped the tears from his cheeks and sniffed, looking over at Hawke. "I filed a report. But no witnesses, his word against mine. If… if he'd… raped me," he said, falling quiet at the word before clearing his throat, "there would be evidence. I would've had a case. They said I was…" He shook his head, taking a breath and calmed down. "Petrice hates mages," he said finally.

The silence in the car was overwhelming. Hawke's fingers twitched, aching to go for the gun in the glove compartment. He'd return to the hospital and simply blow Alrik's brains out all over the walls, damn the consequences. Anders took another breath and started the car again, carefully pulling out to drive the last few blocks before parking behind his own car in front of his building.

"That's not why I hope you kill him," Anders said, reaching over to take Hawke's hand. He stopped, then pulled the rose from the dashboard instead, holding it to his chest. "I'm not the first, and I wasn't the last. The others… they're just scared. No one will talk to me. I tried to rally them. If we got enough people… but no one wants to take a chance to be put in the Gallows, and it's not as if it's easy to get a transfer to another hospital."

Hawke reached up, tucking a strand of Anders' hair behind his ear. Anders took his hand, holding it against his cheek, then turned his head to kiss his palm.

"I will fucking bury him," Hawke promised with a ferocity he only had ever felt when one of his family was in trouble. Personal insults were just that. People who tried to kill him or leaked his business were dealt with a cold detachment. "Anyone who fucks with my family…"

Anders turned to look at him, and Hawke felt resolve strengthen tenfold in that small, sad smile. Alrik, he promised himself, would pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to put off updating til tomorrow (have a LOT of work still do to with tweaks and slogging through the sequel and I hate making you guys wait) but the reactions I got last chapter were really unexpected. Not unwelcome, not by a long shot. I love seeing the visceral hatred everyone has for Alrik and they want to see him in itty bitty pieces as much as I do. 
> 
> Thank you guys on the comments and feedback so far for the story. Even if I don't reply to each comment, know that I really, really appreciate all the support I've been getting for this and all my other stories. More to come, I promise. <3


	41. Chapter 41

Anders knew Hawke likely had other things to do than stay with him that evening. After his emotional upheaval though, it was impossible to argue the point. So they ate together quietly, Hawke slipping Ser Pounce-a-lot bits of burger. The third time it happened, Anders glared without any real rancor behind it.

"You're going to make my cat fat."

"And you're going to give him a complex by calling him fat," Hawke said, letting the cat lick the grease from his fingers.

Anders relaxed on the couch while Hawke cleaned up, throwing away wrappers and putting the leftovers in the fridge. He stretched out, laying back, and smiled despite himself when Hawke approached, laying over him carefully. Slowly he lifted his hand to Hawke's face, frowned, and gently touched his nose. There was a pull of static electricity in the air as it grew heavier. His fingertips glowed a soft blue as he pressed his magic against Hawke's skin. Hawke closed his eyes, not moving. Anders healed the broken nose, the cuts, then moved to the bruised jaw to administer the same.

Hawke opened his eyes when he was finished. "It's… been a long time since I had anyone do that for me," he whispered.

Anders breathed a sigh of relief. Hawke, who'd stated he wasn't against magic, didn't get angry. He didn't yell. He didn't say it was something disgusting that had to be hidden.

"Do my head next?" Hawke asked, grinning.

Anders let out a shaky laugh. Hawke laid his head on Anders' chest, and Anders let his fingers drift through thick hair, wincing as the stitches pricked his finger. It took a bit more doing, but he managed to heal the cut as well, pulling the stitches free while pulsing in the magic that would take the pain away. He dropped the remains of the stitches on the coffee tapping, tapping Ser Pounce on the nose when he sniffed at them. Hawke didn't move, breathing steadily as he lay atop him.

"Feels really good," Hawke muttered.

Anders smiled, rubbing his back, and closed his eyes. It felt so nice to lay here like this. Hawke was the last person he thought he'd ever be with in this position. He wondered how many people would ever believe that someone like Hawke would be so open and vulnerable. Even his family didn't seem to know. And it was all for him. He laughed a little.

"What?" Hawke murmured. "Don't stop," he added, when Anders' hand slowed.

Anders continued to rub his back. "Just thinking of bad poetry and metaphors."

"Hn?"

"I feel like the last few years I've just been crumbling apart. Like I was waiting for something, and that's why I didn't…" He swallowed, not wanting to admit to the lyrium he kept in his drawer. "And in a week you broke me down and put me back together properly."

Hawke was silent for a moment, then he let out a 'Hah' of laughter. "You're right, that is bad poetry."

Anders smacked his shoulder. "I'm trying to be romantic."

Hawke lifted his head to face him, and kissed him gently. "We can be romantic in the bedroom." Then he winced. "Or not," he added, perhaps thinking it was insensitive.

Anders smirked. "Let's." 

He laughed at Hawke's surprised but pleased expression, and was cut off when Hawke got off him quickly, grabbing him up and tossing him over his shoulder.

"Hawke!" he laughed, struggling as Hawke fairly ran to the bedroom. "Hawke! I'm not a – Oof!" Hawke had deposited him on the bed and was now undressing. "Stop!" Anders protested, without any real conviction.

"I need to ravish you. Right now," Hawke said seriously.

Anders kicked off his shoes and moved back, but something felt wrong. The sheets shifted under the blanket and he realized belatedly his bed was several inches larger than it had been that morning. When Hawked moved to kneel on it, Anders pressed a hand against his chest, frowning. With his other hand, he pulled back the covers to reveal the fitted sheet not fitting.

"What?" Hawke asked, almost too innocently.

Anders pushed him back, sitting up, and pulled the sheets from the bed. The bed that wasn't his bed, because the mattress was brand new, not his old stained one. He stood for a moment, looking at it, holding the balled up covers and sheets in his hands, and felt like crying. Though he wasn't sure why. Hawke, hands on his hips, stood next to him, looking at it as well.

"I thought it was the same size." He shrugged. "I'll buy you sheets."

"No, Hawke," Anders said, throwing the bundle of linens onto the mattress. He turned away from him, hand pressed against his forehead.

"Sorry?"

"I _told_ you," Anders said, rounding on him now. "I told you no more of this!"

"You said no more couches."

"You're such an arrogant asshole!" Anders couldn't believe him. And now Hawke wanted to argue semantics. How could he be so understanding one minute and so full of himself the next? "I don't want this. I don't… I don't want you showering me with gifts like this!"

Hawke frowned. "You put the rose I got you into a vase."

Anders let out a cry of frustration. "That was a… a two dollar rose!"

"Five."

"Andraste's flaming knickers, who cares!" Anders shouted. "Normal people buy flowers for their lovers. They don't go out and buy them couches-"

"Are we still on about the couch?"

"SHUT UP about the couch!"

"You brought it up," Hawke said, somewhat bruised.

Anders rubbed his face, sighing, reminding himself that it wasn't malicious. Hawke was just a… a… big, dumb puppy bringing its owner dead birds and expecting praise. It was the best metaphor he could come up with, frustrated as he was. And if Hawke wasn't so Maker damned endearing, he might have thrown him out right then.

"Just stop buying me things like this. Flowers, that's fine. But no more furniture. Especially," he said, looking at the manufacturer, "Orlesian mattresses. Maker, I don't even want to know what this cost."

Hawke shrugged. "Your old one made my back ache. I figured this was as much for me as it was for you. The one I have at home is close to it."

Anders sighed, reaching for the mess of sheets on his bed. He tossed the fitted which was too small onto the floor. "Help me with this," he said, shaking out the top sheet.

Hawke got to the other side of the bed. The top sheet was too small as well of course, but it covered most of it. He settled the pillows that had been flung to the floor in Anders' irritation and looked at him. Anders shook his head, eyes closed.

"…so I guess that means no new TV?" Hawke asked.

"No!" Anders said, eyes snapping open to look at him exasperatedly. "Why would you buy me a new TV?"

"Yours is really old and I like crystal clear pictures. You see, it's for me as much as it is for you so it's not like a real present."

Anders stared at him, open-mouthed. "You really believe that, don't you? You justified this in your mind."

Hawke shrugged, arms crossed.

"You're such a… you're an arrogant, self-entitled bastard, Garrett Hawke."

"It really turns me on when you say stuff like that," Hawke said.

Anders threw a pillow at his face and laughed, still irritated. "What happens if we break up? Then I have all this stuff that you gave me."

"Don't break up with me," Hawke said, reaching down to pick up the pillow. "I'm not… okay, I am an asshole, but I wouldn't repossess furniture out of spite. Besides, the money I spent on the couch I've already made back five times over and the bed will pay for itself. Soon as I can figure out how to get you back into it."

Anders was tempted to throw the other pillow at him. He was about to answer when Hawke's phone rang. "Get it," he said. "Might be important," he added without jealousy or anger.

Hawke took his phone out. "Yeah? You did." He glanced at Anders and moved out into the hall.

Anders tried not to listen. Something about locating the bastard and a red iron. He frowned. Torture? No, he wouldn't think of it. Ignorance was bliss, right? He felt a little sick to his stomach. Hawke came back in after a moment, tucking his phone away.

"I have to go."

Anders sighed. "It's okay." He frowned. "Hawke, that wasn't… red… iron? Like fire pokers?" He didn't want to know the answer, and a part of him hoped Hawke would shelter him from it.

Hawke blinked. "What? No! The Red Iron's a Lowtown gang. They were out for a while and now they're back. They've been… they killed someone who was a friend of mine. And a lot of other people."

"Oh." Anders wasn't sure if he felt better about this, but at least Hawke wasn't talking about torture. "I'll walk you out."

Hawke pulled his shoes back on and picked up his coat, letting Anders lead him to the front door. Anders leaned in and kissed him thoroughly, gripping his shirt. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against Hawke's.

"Please be careful. And call me tonight."

"I will," Hawke promised and kissed him again. He stepped out into the hall and turned to him. "Oh. I guess this isn't a good time to mention…"

Anders, leaning against the door, raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"I had a mechanic fix your car."

Anders shut the door in his face.


	42. Chapter 42

Footsteps echoed on the pavement, expensive Antivan boots slapping through puddles as he ran, slightly out of breath from the chase. Hawke saw him ahead, trying to duck into another alley. He stopped and let out a sharp whistle, looking up. A figure leapt from the tall building, clattering onto the fire escape opposite and looked down. Fenris's hair shone in the moonlight as he peered at Hawke. Hawke gestured, a signal to where their prey was. Fenris leapt up onto the railing and vaulted to the roof before taking off. Hawke's phone blipped; walkie-talkie mode.

"Carver," he acknowledged.

"South on Fourth."

Hawke tucked his phone back into his pocket and turned around, running in the direction opposite to cut Varnell off. They dropped in on the rat's nest where he was holed up, some abandoned building in Darktown among the lyrium junkies. He ran when they burst in, the rest of the inhabitants scattering like the cockroaches they were. For the better part of an hour they'd been chasing him, Varnell shaking them off once or twice only to be found again to start the chase anew. It only got more difficult when it started to rain, a light drizzling mist.

Tired and pissed off now, Hawke knew he'd be hard-pressed to keep from shooting Varnell right in the face when they finally caught up. There was a whistle from above and Hawke glanced up. Fenris pointed. Hawke looked. He could barely see through the dark until the two grappling men moved under a flickering streetlight. Carver and Varnell. Hawke took off running, hearing Fenris drop down and follow. Hawke didn't stop, barreling full force into Varnell, taking both him and Carver down. The gun in Varnell's hand clattered across the asphalt, and Fenris leapt over them to grab the weapon.

Carver disentangled himself from the pile and waited until Hawke had Varnell in a headlock, yanking him to his feet. Hawke turned him around and Carver took the clean shot, punching the ex-templar hard in the stomach. Fenris racked the gun and held it to Varnell's head. Hawke, lips close to Varnell's ear, growled.

"Fucking listen to me, you piece of dog shit."

Varnell struggled, kicking back, trying to get free. Fenris moved away just a few inches and Hawke turned his head so Carver could deliver a punch to Varnell's face without interference. Hawke pulled Varnell up again, twisting his arm painfully behind his back. Varnell cried out.

"Don't!"

Hawke laughed. "You're in no position to make demands, you sick son of a fuck. You raped a little girl."

Varnell's eyes widened and he struggled harder. Fenris lowered the gun and shot him in the knee. Varnell screamed in agony, nearly falling. Hawke kept him upright while Carver grabbed his hair to deliver another punch to his face.

"So you fucking tell me," Hawke said, "are you working for Meeran?"

"That… bastard," Varnell hissed, groaning with the effort to stay up. "He said he'd look out… wouldn't let me… if I just flipped your car…"

Hawke chuckled. "You first mistake was trusting Meeran. Your last was pissing me off. How many mages have you raped?"

Varnell swallowed. "Wh-what?"

Carver kicked him in the bullet wound. The crunching of a broken bone was only overshadowed by the sound of Varnell's screams echoing off the buildings.

"How many?"

"Th-three," Varnell gasped, and Hawke didn't even care if he was telling the truth or not.

"You're a sick fuck," Hawke said, twisting his arm harder, then yanked on it.

Something in his shoulder popped and Varnell howled.

"Where's Meeran?"

Varnell sobbed.

"WHERE IS HE?" Hawke bellowed.

"He's… he's in Lowtown. He's shacked up with Athenril. That smuggler cunt."

Hawke's eyes narrowed. He knew her. He knew her well, considering he fucked her a few times. He let her do what she wanted, provided he got his cut. And he always got his cut. She was never late on payments, always passed her drops to Isabela. Too good to be true, he supposed. But why would she turn on him? He had no idea, but he sure as fuck would find out. He looked to Fenris and nodded. Fenris's lip curled slightly, and Hawke shoved Varnell away, pushing him to the ground. He crumpled, Carver stepping back out of the way. Fenris stepped up, aimed, and fired two bullets in quick succession to the back of Varnell's head.

He lay still, and the street was quiet.

Hawke let out a heavy sigh. "I'll get the car. See what you can find to wrap him up. I don't want him bleeding all over my trunk."

Fenris immediately tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans and started toward an alley. Carver, however, followed Hawke down the street. Hawke didn't acknowledge him. Carver should know better than to disobey an order, but Hawke found his presence… comforting. His little brother in the mix with him, doing what their father would be proud of him for doing. At first, Hawke was hesitant to give him a crew, but Carver rose to the occasion. There was a time when Hawke wouldn't bother telling him how proud he was of him. Now? He reached over and ruffled his hair.

Carver scowled. "You're cheerful. I guess getting laid regularly does that."

Hawke laughed. "Right. Cause I wasn't before." He hit the unlock button on his keys and slid in.

Carver got in next to him. "So what is it?"

"Stupid shit," he said, starting the ignition. "Don't worry about it." He felt _good_. Not only was he taking scum off the street and getting his revenge for the ones who kidnapped his brother, he was in a way, avenging Anders. And Alrik? He was next.

"You're acting like an idiot."

Hawke looked at him, eyebrow raised. "Takes one to know one," he said coolly, his tone letting Carver know he was coming dangerously close to no longer being his favorite brother.

Carver scowled, getting the hint. "So we go after Meeran tonight?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because if he's with Athenril and she's sheltering him, I have better ways of getting him out in the open."

"How?"

Hawke grinned ferally, feeling a delicious coil of anticipation in his chest. This was what he loved doing. "She works with Isabela. Isabela lets slip that I haven't been paying her attention like I used to, you have a jealous, bitter woman."

Carver snorted. "Isabela's only jealous if you don't let her watch."

Normally Hawke would've joked back. He'd been in bed with others while Isabela watched. And joined. But the thought of sharing Anders with anyone, even just to watch them? His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled up to the alley. "Anyway," he growled. "Isabela will let slip to Athenril that maybe she's thinking about moving on. That she hears the Red Iron's back. That she wants to get a meeting with Meeran, how she's always had a thing for balding men or something."

Carver gagged. "Ugh. All right. Then what?"

"Don't be rude. Help Fenris with the body."

Carver sighed and got out. Hawke sat back, the dome light casting a glare on the windshield. He squinted, watching as Fenris and Carver rolled Varnell into a couple of old rugs. With a grunt, he got out and moved to the back of the SUV, opening it up so they could dump him in. A dog barked somewhere in the distance as he shut the hatch and got back in the driver's seat. Fenris climbed in the passenger side seat while Carver slid into the back. Hawke drove toward the Imperial.

"Then what?" Carver pressed.

"Then she meets with Meeran and we fuck him up," Hawke said.

Fenris made a, "Hm?" noise, and Hawke shook his head.

"Big plans for Meeran," he said. "We'll go to Isabela's after this and I'll fill everyone in."

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, feeling good. Feeling ready for whatever would come next.


	43. Chapter 43

The parking lot of the Pearl was nearly full despite it being a weekday night. Hawke and the others got out, car doors slamming, adding to the cacophony. Heavy pop music was blaring, rising in volume and then muting again when the bouncer let in a few more desperate men. Hawke smirked as the velvet rope was lifted for him, Fenris, and Carver, and they skipped the line, heading inside. Carver grinned, looking around interestedly, eyeing the bar and the girls.

"Business first," Hawke called over the music.

The Pearl had three stages, two smaller square ones in the far corners, and the main in the center, a circular construct with three poles which were all in use right now. The wrap-around bar boasted all kinds of liquor from across Thedas and was under-lit by soft purple and blue fluorescents. The bartenders and waitresses were all women, as Isabela tended to employ only the fairer sex. Except when it came to the muscle, of course. Bouncers were stationed everywhere, not quite out of sight but not so prominent as to be a distraction. Isabela didn't take kindly to those who mistreated her girls.

Hawke saw Fenris's eyes narrow, lips pulled back in a sneer as the music continued to blare. For as much as his enforcer enjoyed Isabela's company, the Pearl was not his favorite place. So he led them through to the back, down a short hallway where Hawke glanced briefly into the dressing rooms, and up the stairs. Above the Pearl were several bedrooms, some of which were for the 'special rate' clients and some of which housed the dancers who needed a safe place to stay. Hawke opened the office door, and quickly closed it.

"Knock first!" Isabela shouted.

Hawke grinned at Carver's and Fenris's expressions, and leaned against the wall. "She's entertaining," he said easily.

A few seconds later the door opened and a girl came out, wearing nothing but a pair of bikini bottoms. She wiped her mouth, blushing a little as Carver leered. Hawke pushed the door open the rest of the way, watching as Isabela tugged down her mini-dress and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"Sorry," he said.

"You could've watched the show," she said, turning to look at the mirror. "What's up?"

Carver slumped into a chair and Fenris moved to stand against the wall, arms crossed. Hawke watched Isabela reapply her lipstick. Her eyes flicked to him momentarily before back to what she was doing.

"Need you for a performance."

"Ooh, kinky," she purred. She blotted her lips and crossed over to him, leaning up to wrap her arms around his neck.

Hawke leaned down for a kiss, but stopped half-way. It was habit. Isabela was there; you kissed her. He took her wrists gently even as she nuzzled his neck, and pushed her away.

"Sorry, love," he said. "Spoken for now."

Isabela pouted. "Suddenly you find a cock you like better than your own and the rest of us have to go without."

Hawke gestured to both Carver and Fenris in a, 'I come bearing gifts,' sort of way. "I was hoping Merrill would be here, too. I want to fill her in."

"She's in the basement." Isabela slid into Carver's lap, arm around his shoulders. She kissed his cheek as she pulled his phone from his pocket, dialed, and waited. "Kitten, it's Isabela. I know you're busy in the lab doing your little science thing but I need you upstairs. No, we don't need any drinks. Mm. Fenris is lonely though."

Fenris scowled, arms crossed, and looked away. Hawke smirked. They all got along on some level, though there would always be a bit of animosity between Merrill and Fenris, she being a mage, he having not been treated so well by them in the past. But Hawke had made it perfectly clear that he wouldn't tolerate any bigoted bullshit. Now, Fenris was as comfortable with Bethany as anyone. Merrill though… well. She was bouncy and bright where Fenris was not. Some people loved Merrill and her enthusiasm. Others not so much. Isabela hung up and handed the phone back to Carver, giving him a chaste kiss before sliding off and moving to Fenris.

"She'll be up in a minute," Isabela said, leaning back into Fenris's embrace.

Fenris smirked and wrapped his arms around her waist. Hawke took Isabela's vacated chair and waited. It didn't take long, Merrill slightly out of breath when she came in. Her t-shirt was splattered with something greenish, and her eyes were wide.

"I'm sorry! Something went wrong and sort of exploded. I'll clean it up, I swear," she promised.

Carver choked a bit when she pulled the shirt off, revealing a lacy black bra and moved to Isabela's closet to take out a clean one. Isabela nudged Fenris and inclined her head toward Carver. Fenris let out a small laugh and rolled his eyes a little before nuzzling her ear.

Hawke couldn't blame them. He was riding high on the adrenaline of the chase as well. Something about that kind of a fight that made you want to fuck. Only the person he wanted to fuck wasn't here. He touched his breast pocket, feeling his phone there, wondering if he should call Anders now. But no. Business first. Then he'd call and see if he could come by. Possibly break in the bed.

Merrill settled on the only open seat, which was Carver's lap and grinned at him. He smiled back weakly. When all eyes were back on Hawke, he finally spoke.

"Meeran's been spending some quality time with Athenril."

"Ooh," Merrill said. "Well that's a bit of an odd couple. I thought they hated each other."

"Apparently they've made up," Hawke replied. "Meeran's the one pulling the strings with his crew still, as far as I know. Athenril's just a safe house for him. He kidnapped Carver and had Varnell flip my car I think just to fuck with me. Now, I don't know how many eyes they have on me, but it's a good bet they know I haven't been hanging around here a lot in the last week. So what I'm thinking is a bit of a staged fall out."

Isabela did a little dance in Fenris's arms. "I love drama."

"Good, because you're in the middle of it. When Athenril makes her next drop to you, act like the scorned lover. Or something," he added, trusting her.

Isabela nodded. "Then I tell her I want to drop you for greener pastures and get her to lead me to Meeran, ooh I like this."

"That sounds dangerous," Merrill said. "What if they find out you're lying to them? They're not going to be very happy."

"Then you'll just have to come to my rescue, Kitten," Isabela said, blowing her a kiss.

Merrill grinned, her nose scrunching up a bit. Carver held her a bit tighter.

"I'd like to have this in place by the end of the week if not sooner," Hawke said. "It's time we take that shithead down once and for all."

They wisely did not point out that it was Hawke's fault in the first place that Meeran was left alive. He stood, stretching, taking his phone out of his pocket in anticipation of calling Anders the second he stepped out of the office. Glancing at Carver, then Fenris, he smirked.

"Staying?"

"If business is concluded," Fenris said simply.

"Don't stay up too late past your bedtime," Hawke said, flicking Carver's ear. 

He ignored his brother's protests and stepped out of the office, shutting the door. Unable to keep from grinning, he hit the speed dial for Anders.

"Hello?"

"Hey sexy."

Anders laughed a little. "Hi."

"Can I come over?"

"I had to go in for a clinic shift."

Hawke paused. "Can I come over?" he asked again.

"Hawke, you have better things to do than hanging out at the clinic all night."

Hawke thought about this for a minute. He could stay, but what would be the point in sitting in the club? The girls were pretty enough but he couldn't touch them, didn't really want to. The bar was good, but he could drink at home. And going home, well, there wasn't anything there for him. Varric was likely being domestic daddy and not up for socializing. Besides, he bothered Varric enough lately with business, he didn't want to interrupt him for personal.

"Is it pathetic of me to say I really don't?" Hawke asked, moving through the club, covering his free ear.

"Are you… is that music?"

"Yeah!" Hawke called, and breathed easier when he was outside. "I had to visit Isabela for business," he said, getting into his car. "So can I come over?"

Anders sighed. "Sure. But you'll be bored out of your mind."

Hawke grinned. "After the night I had, I'm okay with a little boredom."


	44. Chapter 44

Anders checked his appearance in the mirror, brushing back his hair, straightening his coat. He wore regular scrubs in the clinic, there being no real dress code like the hospital. Hawke had said he liked the tie though. Maybe he would buy a few more nice pairs of pants and start wearing them to the clinic. But no, it was more likely he'd get covered in blood or vomit here than at the hospital. Administrative work could be so dull at times. He emerged from the bathroom, ignoring the look from Lirene as he headed back to the office and sat.

He had no idea why he was so nervous. He had no reason to be. Hawke was coming to the clinic to keep him company. They would have coffee and talk, maybe play cards. It wasn't like it was a date or anything. They really hadn't been on a regular date yet, not unless you counted dinner at the Rose, and Anders really didn't. He hadn't known what he wanted from Hawke then, and he was still angry with him for a lot of things. But Hawke had agreed to his terms for a relationship – more or less. Anders was a bit miffed about the new bed. And the car, even though it seemed to run better than before. It no longer made the rattling noise when it idled.

"Going to pay him back for that," Anders muttered, tapping his fingertips on the top of the desk.

Hawke had been out at the strip club he owned. Or co-owned or however it was. He said he was with Isabela, that it was business. Something to do with the Red Iron that Hawke mentioned earlier? It was such a tease to know so little. But as the saying went, curiosity killed the cat. Anders already accepted that it was dangerous to get involved with Hawke. He'd already seen what could happen to someone who got on the wrong side of him. He pushed Brekker's face from his mind and tried not to wonder what happened to him.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, massaging his temples. He knew that Hawke was merely trying to keep him safe, not telling him where he would be. And Hawke could clearly take care of himself and he had others who would take care of him as well. But what if something happened to him? What if he got hurt and Anders wasn't told? What if Hawke was brought into his hospital just like… No. He wouldn't think about it. If he was going to hold onto the past, he would never get close to anyone again. Accidents happened. He would have to trust that they wouldn't happen to Hawke. But maybe, just maybe if Hawke told him a bit more, Anders could be there to help.

"And do what?" he said to himself. "Sit in the car while he 'takes care of business'?"

That wasn't his life. But there was still a biting jealousy that Hawke was with Isabela and, it stood to reason, his other friends (if that was even the right word for them). And Anders was here, working. Unless he embraced the life, did whatever it was that Hawke had them do, he would be a nine-to-five working man who pushed papers with the rest. He had Hawke in his life and that was enough excitement for him. It was silly to think he should want for more when the man seemed to want to give him the world on a silver platter.

"No, sweetheart, I'm fine. Just want to see the Doc."

Anders' heart raced as he heard Hawke's voice coming down the hall. He looked up and couldn't help the grin that split his face as Hawke rounded the corner, standing, wrists propped on either side of the doorway as he looked in. Hawke actually licked his lips, and Anders shivered.

"Good evening, gorgeous," Hawke said.

Anders laughed. "You think you're so smooth."

"I am," Hawke said immodestly. He stepped inside and shut the door, then looked at Anders before winking, and locked it.

There was a time, a very recent time in Anders' past where he would've felt a different type of nervous anticipation being in a locked room with someone like Hawke. But now, as Hawke drew closer to him, Anders was quite glad for the privacy as well as the desk, blushing as he felt himself harden under that animalistic grin.

Hawke circled the desk, and Anders looked up, as if he had no idea what Hawke was planning to do. Hawke grabbed the arm of the chair and pulled. It wasn't a swivel chair, but the metal slid easily on the carpet as Hawke yanked him around to face him. Anders leaned back, watching as Hawke got to his knees in between Anders' legs.

"Hawke…"

"Shh," Hawke said. "You don't want your receptionist to find out what we're doing."

Anders felt his mouth go dry as Hawke took off his coat, tossing it on the desk. He leaned up, pulling Anders down for a kiss. It wasn't as if Anders hadn't fooled around at work before, but they were always quick and sloppy and he was usually hit with a strong bout of grieving and depression. He'd also never done anything at the clinic, lack of opportunity and the fact that Selby frightened him just a little.

Hawke's hands were on his knees now, squeezing, moving up. Hawke broke the kiss only to pepper little ones over his jaw and down his neck, nipping a little. He nosed Anders' top aside and drew his tongue over the collar bone. Anders gasped, hands going to Hawke's hair. Hawke leaned back, pushing Anders against the chair, one broad hand on his chest. Anders' heart was beating quickly now, waiting. His eyes flicked from Hawke's face to his hand and back, but stopped.

"Is that…"

"Hm?" Hawke asked, parting the white coat so he could edge a hand up under the scrubs top.

Anders grabbed it, stopping him, and took Hawke's chin, tilting his head so he could see. A bit of red on Hawke's collar. A smudge of what could only be lipstick now that he got a closer look. He frowned, feeling hurt, and pushed him away.

"The hell?" Hawke asked, glaring up at him.

"I don't know," Anders said. "Maybe I should call Isabela and ask her."

Hawke raised an eyebrow, obviously confused. "What?"

Anders pursed his lips, crossing his arms. He wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But it would just be like Hawke, wouldn't it? He was so used to getting everything he wanted, this was just something else. So he stood and brushed past him. Hawke stood, grabbing his wrist.

"Anders!"

Anders whirled on him. "So did you fuck her? Was that the business you had to deal with?"

Hawke reached up, touching his collar, the rouge wiping off on his fingers. He scowled. "She tried to kiss me and I pushed her away. Call her if you don't believe me but she's probably got her mouth full of Fenris's cock right now. I finished business as fast as I could so I could come be with _you_ in this crappy little clinic."

Anders felt a stab of irritation at Hawke insulting his clinic. It wasn't much. Hell, it wasn't even _his_ but he felt comfortable here. It would be like Hawke insulting his cat. Did he believe Hawke? He wanted to, he really did. "Maybe you should go if my clinic is so crappy."

He expected Hawke to yell or storm out. What he didn't expect was for Hawke to grab him by the wrists and slam him against the wall, chest to chest, glaring at him.

"Like hell I will," Hawke growled. "Just fucking let me take care of you. Stop being stubborn."

Anders tried to pull away, but Hawke was strong, really strong. And he, Anders, was too thin, too tired, and not nearly in the shape Hawke was in to try to fight him. He struggled against him. "Let me go."

"No. Not until you admit you want this."

"You are so fucking arrogant," Anders hissed. He felt his face flush as Hawke pressed against him, a very firm thigh sliding between his legs. It rubbed against his cock, which hardened slowly at the stimulation. "You're like a child with a new toy. You expect it to be in the same place when you put it down. I'm not your fucking toy, Garrett," he said, using Hawke's first name for the first time ever. He wasn't sure why, it simply slipped out.

Hawke growled and slammed his wrists back again. Anders whimpered; his grip was painful. And when Hawke kissed him, he bit his lip hard, tasting blood. Hawke grunted and thrust his tongue into Anders' mouth, and Anders finally relented, kissing back just as hard. He believed him about Isabela, he really did. He was just so very… scared. Scared that Hawke would decide he was too boring, too dull. That when he bought him all new furniture and was done spoiling him, he would get tired and leave him by the wayside, just another knot in a string of lovers and one-night stands that Hawke left behind.

Hawke's grip shifted, bringing both of Anders' wrists to one hand while the other snaked under his shirt. He was pinned, he couldn't move. He didn't want to move. The hand was warm on his stomach, dragging upward, fingers brushing over a nipple. He moaned into Hawke's mouth and then gasped as Hawke pinched, rolling one, then the other. He broke the kiss and shoved the shirt up, lowering his head to capture the hardened bud between lips and tongue. Anders panted, hips bucking now as Hawke teased him.

"Oh, oh Maker," he moaned, head thrown back, hitting the wall. He pulled at his wrists but they were still held tightly in Hawke's hand.

Hawke dragged his other hand down his side, thumb sliding past the elastic waistband of his scrubs and boxers. Anders thrust again, or tried to. Hawke released his nipple and Anders had only a brief respite before he attacked the other, biting hard enough that Anders swore he'd tear it off.

"Please!" he begged. "Oh Maker, fuck. Please."

"Shh," Hawke said, and swirled his tongue around the abused nipple.

Anders felt the wetness in his boxers, cock hard and aching, ready to be touched or sucked or anything. He just needed friction. He would come in his scrubs if Hawke kept teasing him, thumb swiping slowly over his hip. He thrust again and Hawke pressed up against him. Anders let out a strangled cry.

"Do you want it?" Hawke growled, moving his lips back to Anders' ear. 

The hand that was on his hip slid fully between his waistband and moved back, squeezing his ass. Anders whimpered, eyes closed, nodding.

"Can't fucking hear you," Hawke whispered, and bit his neck hard.

"Ah! Yes, oh Maker yes, I want it!"

"I'm not fucking anyone but you, sweetheart," Hawke growled. "Don't forget it."

"Yes," Anders agreed. "Yes, I know."

The hand moved, not toward his cock, but up and out of his scrubs. Anders whined until Hawke knelt, releasing his wrists. Anders' arms and wrists ached as he dropped them, hands falling to Hawke's hair. He swallowed hard, watching Hawke descend, kissing down his chest and stomach.

"Oh," he whimpered, as Hawke pulled the elastic of his scrubs and boxers out and down, careful not to brush his erection.

"Fuck," Hawke breathed.

Anders was about to tell him no, don't worry. That this was his first time sucking a cock and he didn't want to push him into anything. He opened his mouth and the protests died a quick, silent death as Hawke brought his lips to the head, tongue swiping the precome there.

"Maker have mercy," Anders gasped.

What followed was a series of licks, feather-light touches, kisses and tentative nibbles. Anders felt his toes curling. He was going to die here, at the hands and mouth of this man who'd never before had a cock in his mouth. Hawke's scarred, calloused hand wrapped around him, and Anders watched as the remaining bit disappeared between Hawke's lips. He sucked, and Anders gripped his hair, trying not to thrust forward. The hand around him squeezed and pumped as he pulled back. Anders gurgled.

He tried to say something, anything, to encourage Hawke, but he couldn't. There were no words. Beginner's luck, maybe? Hawke suckled at the tip, hand sliding up over the saliva, providing a slick glide, and then he moved forward, swallowing Anders once again in that hot cavernous mouth. Hawke had found his rhythm, head bobbing, cheeks hollowing as he sucked whenever he pulled back. Anders almost cried. It was glorious but it wasn't enough.

"Faster, please," he begged. "Oh Maker, I'm almost..."

Hawke listened, and Anders felt it coming, so very close, his entire body tingling. It had never felt so good, not for so long. He tensed, thighs quivering, stomach tightening.

"Garrett!"

He tried to pull back, bringing his hand down to finish in his own palm, but Hawke smacked him away, swallowing greedily, and Anders nearly came again as he watched, hips snapping forward involuntarily as he rode out the last of his orgasm. He closed his eyes, head back against the wall, hands falling away from Hawke's head. It was trite and cliché, but he thought he could die there, and he would die happy. Maybe it was because it had been ages since he'd had anyone but himself pay that much attention to his cock, but he felt more sated, more fulfilled than he'd had in years.

He looked down, twitching a little as Hawke flicked his tongue over the tip of his cock, jerking his hips now at the sensitivity. No, he decided. It wasn't that. It was because of how he felt about this man. Was it possible to fall in love so fast? Was it just the honeymoon stage of a relationship? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that he didn't want to ever leave Hawke.

The very thought of it terrified him.


	45. Chapter 45

Hawke licked his lips then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up. Anders' head was back, eyes closed, and he was breathing like he'd just run a marathon. Grinning, Hawke stood, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from Anders' sweaty forehead. Anders turned his head, seizing his wrist and pressed his lips to his palm, then pulled him in for a kiss. Hawke never really cared for kissing after he had his cock sucked, but Anders seemed to really like it, tongue thrusting into his mouth, sweeping against Hawke's. He moaned, and Hawke grinned after.

"What?" Anders asked, still a little breathless.

Hawke watched as he reached up to the top of the filing cabinet, pulling a few tissues from the box there to wipe himself off before straightening his clothes. Hawke tucked a crooked finger under Anders' chin and brought his face up so he could look him in the eye.

"I don't know why women complain," he said, "it didn't taste half bad."

Anders stared at him a moment, then sighed, but he was smiling. "What the hell am I'm going to do with you?"

Hawke grinned and stepped back, hoisting himself up on the desk, legs swinging a bit. "We could always do that again," he said, shrugging. He watched Anders' eyes flick to his groin and back. Hawke licked his lips. "I'd love to see your mouth around my cock. But not now," he added. "We have time for that and all the other stuff."

Anders straightened his coat and stepped forward cautiously, hands coming up to rest on Hawke's shoulders. "'Other stuff'," he teased. "There's a lot of that."

Hawke took him around the waist, pulling him in close, head tilted up for a kiss. Anders didn't disappoint, cupping his jaw, kissing him softly. "Mm. Well you can teach it all to me. That's all I really know when it comes to guys."

"You sure it was your first time?" Anders asked, smiling.

"Unless I sleep-suck," Hawke said offhandedly. "Walking around, unaware. I creep into men's bedrooms, rip down their pants and-"

"Blow them to within an inch of their lives?" Anders suggested, eyebrow raised.

"Was it that good?" Hawke asked, surprised. "I mean, of course it was. I'm awesome at everything I do."

Anders rolled his eyes and kissed his forehead before pressing his cheek to it. "Arrogant."

"Is it arrogance when it's true?" Hawke asked, hands sliding down, squeezing Anders' backside.

Anders jumped, batting at his hands, but Hawke didn't release him. "Yes. You can learn to have a little modesty."

"That… that sounds hard."

Anders sighed. "I only put up with it because you're kind of cute."

There was a loud rapping at the door. "Anders?"

Anders grinned. "Lirene," he said softly to Hawke. "Come in," he called, stepping out of Hawke's reach.

Lirene poked her head in. "We've got a sliced calf with a shard of glass in it. Kid was fooling around his with brother and fell through a sliding glass door," she said, looking down at the clipboard before handing to Anders. "It's going to need stitches, I think."

Anders took the clipboard, looking it over, and Hawke met Lirene's eyes as she looked at him. She glared. Hawke raised an eyebrow, wondering what that was about. Did this woman have a crush on Anders? A one night stand and she wanted more? Anders frowned slightly and looked to Hawke.

"I'll be a bit. Feel free to… whatever. There are books and cards." He kissed Hawke distractedly on the cheek and headed out.

Lirene shot one more glare at Hawke before following Anders. Hawke shrugged to himself and got off the desk. He poked around the office, taking it all in. The walls were decorated in diplomas and certificates and a poster with a diagram of the human eyeball with all the parts labeled. The filing cabinet was locked, likely housing confidential patient files. Hawke had no interest in those anyway. He sat down at the desk, turning the chair back and rifled through the drawers. Office supplies, three ring binders, printer paper, forms. Dull and boring, just like a doctor's office. There was nothing of note on the desk really except for two frames, one containing a photo of the other receptionist – Lily – and the other one empty.

Hawke frowned. He wondered if that had been Anders' photo frame, empty now because of what happened. How morbid. If the computer had had a webcam, he would've fixed that. Then again, Anders was awfully touchy. He probably wouldn't have liked that intrusion. Maybe one day Hawke's smiling mug would be in the frame. Or he could simply buy him a new frame. Not the little 5 x 7 that sat there, but a full 8 x 10 or larger.

He sat back, crossing his hands over his chest and twiddled his thumbs, looking around when something caught his eye. A nylon backpack tossed haphazardly in the corner. Anders'? Hawke glanced at the door. He couldn't hear anything, so likely Anders was helping the kid with the stitches. Making a decision, he got up, pulled the bag to the desk and started looking. A couple of folders, a notebook, pens. A half-finished bottle of water, a squashed granola bar that looked like it had been there for months. Maker, did the man even eat unless he was forced to? 

His fingers folded over something familiar and he pulled it out. A knife. When did Anders buy a knife? Did he use it for protection? Hawke flicked it open and suddenly realized. This was _his_ knife. He'd thrown it at Gamlen at dinner. Why had Anders taken it? It wasn't as if Hawke was hurting for weapons though. He closed it, then tossed it back in the bag. If Anders wanted to keep it, Hawke didn't mind. He might make an argument about it though the next time Anders bitched about a piece of furniture. The knife was silverite after all, and extremely expensive. He pulled out a wallet next and grinned.

Checking the door again, he flipped it open. There was one sad, lonely dollar in the billfold portion, a health insurance card, an expired credit card, a few old receipts and a driver's license. He looked behind the license and pulled out two wallet-sized photos. The first was Justice in full uniform, looking self-righteously stoic. Or the other way around, Hawke couldn't decide. He slid the pictures apart and felt a jolt of recognition, and an uncomfortable feeling of guilt started to build in his stomach. He knew that man.

"Ah, shit," he swore, turning the picture over.

_Anders,_

_All my love, always._

_Yours,_

_Karl._

Karl. Karl Thekla. No wonder the name sounded familiar. Hawke turned the picture back over. He closed his eyes, taking a breath.

_"What the fuck do you mean there was an 'innocent bystander'?"_

_Hawke, younger though no less dangerous, grabbed the man by the front of the shirt._

_"Keran, I didn't pull you off the fucking street for you to start shooting people at fucking random. You were_ only _supposed to take care of Greagoir. What the fuck happened?"_

_Keran, shaking, held up his hands. "I don't know! There was another guy there, he caught some ricochet, I think!"_

_"Well what the fuck was the guy's name?"_

_"I don't know!!"_

_Hawke shoved him back, cocked his pistol and pointed it at him. "Run. If I see your face again in Kirkwall, you are a dead motherfucker."_

_Keran ran._

Hawke looked back down at the picture. He knew this man. Because he paid for his funeral. He paid a substantial bit of reparations to his aunt. 'Thekla' was not her last name though, and there were so many people in the world with the first name 'Karl,' how was he supposed to have known? And though Hawke didn't pull the trigger himself, it was still his failing, still his fuck up. If he'd known… If he'd known he would've taken care of Anders back then.

An inappropriately morbid thought entered his brain. _He probably wouldn't have accepted a couch then, either._

He tucked both pictures carefully back into their spot in the wallet and tossed it back into the bag, and the bag into the corner. Sitting, pensive, he stared at the blank computer monitor, fingers tapping against his lips. That's how Anders found him quarter of an hour later, peeling latex gloves from his hands.

"Sorry," Anders said, tossing the gloves in the hazardous waste bin. "Stupid kids. Bet their mother's going to be mad when she finds out. So. Cards or...?"

Hawke looked up and forced a tight-lipped smile. "Sure."

"You okay?" Anders asked, taking a deck of cards from a basket on the filing cabinet.

"Yeah," Hawke said absently. "Yeah. Fine. Just business."

Anders gave him a concerned look and Hawke forced another smile, sitting up straighter. And as Anders started to deal the cards, talking about the family he'd just treated, Hawke decided this was one detail of his life best kept secret.


	46. Chapter 46

Hawke disliked waiting. He was not by nature a patient man, but he understood the necessity of a slow burn. To jump at Meeran now would be folly. He trusted Isabela to do her job, otherwise he never would've hired her on. He remembered the day she came to him, asking for a favor, promising to pay him back.

_"I need to find this book so I can get this guy off my back."_

_"From what I know about you, you like having guys on your back."_

_They were in The Hanged Man, Hawke granting her a rare meeting. Hawke was not without backup, however, he knew the Pearl's owner was somewhat ruthless and amazingly good with knives. You didn't go to dinner with a trained assassin unarmed. And he wasn't subtle. While he sat across from her in the booth, Fenris sat next to her, keeping her pinned in. She would need to stand and vault to escape. If she shot him under the table, she'd be dead seconds later. But Isabela was there for business._

_"Normally I'd agree with you, but if they kill you after, what's the point?"_

_"I guess that would put a damper on the sex," Hawke admitted. "What's in it for me?"_

_"Me."_

_"Pass."_

_Isabela scoffed. "You wouldn't say that if you knew what I could do in bed." She sighed. "Okay, fine. Fifteen percent of the Pearl's intake if you get me the book."_

_Hawke scratched his beard, thinking. "Thirty. And I'll make Castillon disappear."_

_Isabela crossed her arms under her breasts and leaned forward on the table. Hawke watched Fenris's eyes flick to her cleavage and back up._

_"Twenty," she said, smirking._

_"Twenty-five."_

_Isabela knew she wasn't going to get a better deal. They shook on it, hammered out the finer details, and Hawke fucked her in the alley behind the Hanged Man while Fenris waited in the car._

And when he saw her fight, Hawke knew she was too valuable to be an independent operator. It took a lot more convincing to move her from soloist to part of the choir, but she went. And Hawke knew it was one of his better decisions. Regardless, he was still anxious. Athenril would make her drop soon, a contract she'd made with Hawke to keep smuggling in Kirkwall, a nice cut of whatever she made. She was never late, never short, and never complained. He wondered now how long she'd been fucking him over.

Glaring at his desk, at the empty glass, he checked the time. Three in the morning. Isabela would be laying it on thick, hopefully. Merrill might even been involved, or she would be in her laboratory under the Pearl working on… whatever it was she worked on. Last time it was some sort of magic mirror. Hawke let her have her pet projects as long as she produced the poisons and other assorted things he needed. Isabela said she was useful to her. And as they had been all too happy to have an audience or even let Hawke join in their bedroom activities, he didn't question it too closely.

Trust was a funny thing.

He picked up his phone, looking at the last text. It was from Anders letting him know he didn't have a clinic shift tonight, but that he really needed to get some sleep, and asking if they could do dinner some other night. Hawke had bristled at the rejection. No one said no to him. Well, not for long and not without some careful persuasion on Hawke's part. He held his temper in check though. Anders likely did need the sleep. The man had no reason to lie to him.

He could go wake Fenris and head out for a drive. Fenris would go, too, without complaint. As tempted as Hawke was, he restrained himself. He needed him well-rested and in a good mood for the next few days or however long it would take Isabela to work her charms on Athenril. When she lured Meeran into a false sense of security, it would take all hands on deck to bring him down. He only wished he had Sebastian at a hundred percent. He was no good with a broken leg-

Hawke looked down at his phone again. Would Anders heal him up with magic if he asked? If Hawke employed a mage that was half as good with healing magic as Anders, he would've treated them like royalty. No wonder Sebastian tried to recruit him from the off. Hawke didn't blame him for that, not fully. But now Anders was his, and if Sebastian tried to make a move again… well, he'd have more to worry about than just a broken leg.

Impulsively, he tapped the call button and brought the phone to his ear.

"'lo?" The voice on the other end was heavy with sleep.

"Hey," Hawke breathed.

"Hawke?"

"Were you sleeping?"

The shifting of sheets. "It's three in the morning," Anders pointed out, sighing tiredly.

"You're a night owl."

"Hawke, I'm trying to sleep."

"I could sleep with you."

Slow, even breathing that sounded like Anders had dropped back off.

"Anders?" Hawke prompted.

"S'fine. I'll leave the door unlocked."

Hawke grinned and ended the call, grabbing up his coat on the way out. The household was asleep, only the light in the hallway and the one over the stove on as he headed toward the garage. He might wake Carver as his brother had the room above it, but Hawke didn't care. There was a nervous anticipation he only felt when he was going to see Anders. He tried not to examine his feelings too closely. Counting Anders as one of the family came easily. Maybe a bit too easily. But it wasn't as if Anders tried to wiggle his way into Hawke's good graces. In fact, it seemed that Anders hated him at first. But there was no fear there, just anger. Hawke wasn't used to that.

He parked and headed upstairs, wondering not for the first time what it would take to get Anders to move out. He'd gotten Varric to look into his finances (with much eyebrow raising from Varric) and discovered quite a lot of student loan debt. Hawke was tempted to pay it off, but if Anders got that upset over a couch and a bed, he was pretty sure he'd never hear the end of it. Though the idea of Anders yelling at him, that angry scowl as his voice rose, how his brow would furrow… Out of all the fetishes Hawke thought he would ever have, getting berated by Anders was not one of them.

The door was unlocked as Anders said it would be, and Hawke stepped inside. The lamp in the hall was left on, the only light in the apartment that he could see. He shut the door and locked it, carefully slipping out of his shoes. Dropping his coat on the couch, he moved down to the bedroom, pushing the half-open door to peer in. Anders lay on his stomach, covers pulled up to his waist. Headlights from a passing car danced over the wall and ceiling, and Ser Pounce-a-lot poked his head up sleepily from Anders' pillow. Hawke undressed, used to sleeping naked in his own bed, and wondered if he should chance it here.

_What harm could it do?_

If he was lucky, he could convince Anders that sleep was overrated anyway. Carefully he piled his clothing atop the dresser, leaving his boxers on the floor by the bed. If Anders got angry for his lack of sleep attire, at least he wouldn't be made to leave the warmth of the covers to correct the issue. He slid in, noticing the new sheets that Anders must've purchased, and scratched Ser Pounce between the ears before gently running the backs of his fingertips across Anders' arm. Anders stirred, head turning, eyes opening briefly.

"Hawke?"

"Do you often let strangers into your bed?" Hawke teased.

Anders smiled, half-asleep still, and slid until he was half on top of Hawke, face buried in his chest. Hawke wrapped an arm around him, holding him close, looking up at the crack on the ceiling. This place was seriously in bad condition.

"Anders?"

"Hn?" He was barely conscious.

"Come live with me."

"Hn."

Hawke grinned, kissed his forehead, and closed his eyes. He'd ask again later when Anders was awake.


	47. Chapter 47

"With all due respect, I really don't believe this-"

"Shut up, Sebastian."

Sebastian fell silent, but glared at Hawke, who was standing in the bedroom doorway. Hawke watched as Anders instructed Bethany in healing magic, and their first guinea pig was Sebastian. It took a little doing to remove the cast, and now he was sitting in bed, propped up on pillows, looking extremely apprehensive. Bethany was kneeling on the mattress next to him while Anders stood on the other side, guiding her hand.

Hawke was always impressed with what his sister could do. He'd been slightly jealous of her when they were younger, as she shared something with their father that he could never have. But he was never vocal about it like Carver, never complained. In the end, Bethany was the favorite and would always be, but Hawke knew he had Malcolm's respect, and that meant more to him than love.

"Fingertips only," Anders warned. "You have the potential, but you need to focus."

It had taken a bit of convincing, a little bit of pleading, and a lot of complimenting to get Anders to agree to this. When Hawke argued that having Sebastian fully healed would mean that he could help better with the business, Anders had to relent. So after work, Anders dropped by the estate and Hawke was pleased that not only was Anders ready to help, but that he wanted to teach Bethany as well. Bethany had learned a bit from Malcolm when she was younger, but nothing like now.

Her delicate hand was hovering inches over Sebastian's shin. A light blue glow emanated from her fingers, and Anders moved them down slowly. Sebastian winced but kept quiet. Hawke watched the concentration on Anders' face, the furrowed brow, the strands of hair that escaped, begging to be tucked behind an ear that Hawke would then nuzzle and nibble. He'd shown up dressed in his hospital attire, button down shirt and tie. The tie was gone now, sleeves rolled up. Hawke found him almost irresistible, and wondered how long this would take, eager to get him alone.

"There," Anders said quietly. "Do you feel the bone knitting?"

"I think so," Bethany said, frowning in concentration. "Usually I just… it's impulsive. I can throw a man thirty feet into a brick wall if I wanted to."

Hawke smirked at Sebastian's expression. A mixture of fear and excitement. Maybe he wasn't the only one who enjoyed the feistier side of his lover. That it was his sister… Well, Hawke knew she could handle herself if Sebastian became too over amorous. Sebastian would know the consequences of hurting her, not just at Hawke's hand.

"This is more subtle," Anders said. "It takes a bit more than just instinct, especially if you're not used to it."

"You were born with this though, weren't you?" Bethany asked.

"I was," Anders replied modestly. "I've always had a… thing for healing people."

Hawke felt a swirl of jealousy. Anders never spoke about magic to him, at least not like this. It was a connection that Malcolm had with Bethany, and now Anders had it as well. Perhaps Bethany saw a bit of Malcolm in Anders. Whatever it was, when she smiled at it, it was clear she was smitten. Hawke, surprisingly, did not feel jealousy at that. He'd seen his little sister crush on many boys growing up, falling in and out of infatuation easily. When Sebastian came into their lives, all tanned and accented, he expected her to react the same way, but she hadn't. Nor had she fallen so easily for his charms as he turned them on her. They were a good match for one another, Hawke thought. She was just stubborn enough to keep him in line.

_Like Anders is for you,_ he thought distractedly.

Sebastian, however, didn't seem too pleased by the subtle flirting. "Are we done?"

"Only if you want it to break again when you set your weight on it," Anders said. "The bone is knitted but it needs some time still. I'll check on it again in an hour. Until then, stay off it."

Bethany moved off the bed and wrapped her arms around Anders' neck, hugging him tightly. Hawke watched the surprised, pleased expression on Anders' face and felt a surge of pride for them both. Sebastian, however, was scowling, his own eyes fixed on Anders' hands, which were at the small of Bethany's back.

"Don't be jealous," Hawke said. "If it makes you feel better, _I_ could give you a hug."

"Hands off," Bethany teased before crossing to hug Hawke as well. "Do you think daddy would be proud?" she whispered in his ear.

Hawke hesitated, then squeezed her tightly. "Yes. Of course."

She kissed his cheek, grinning, obviously thankful for his admission. "Now go on. I have to take care of Sebastian."

Hawke grunted. Bethany laughed.

Anders rolled down his sleeves, moving toward the door. "An hour and we'll give it another go," he said, and followed Hawke out.

The door shut, and Hawke took him around the waist, kissing him softly. "Thank you."

Anders smiled a bit shyly. "It's… I don't mind, honestly. I never get to use magic and really feel safe. Any whiff of it in the hospital brings the templars running. And there's always a chance one of my clinic patients will turn me in. I can't afford to defend myself against an accusation like that if I'm locked up."

Hawke frowned. "Why do you keep helping them, then? If you think they might turn you in?" He took him by the hand and pulled him down the hall toward his own bedroom. "Seems like that makes them a bunch of ungrateful fucks."

Anders shook his head. "No. Just poor. There's always a finder's fee for mages using their magic."

"What? When did that start?"

"A few years ago," Anders said. "There was a surge of false reports."

Hawke scowled. "That's not right."

Anders shrugged. "If it means a few extra hundred dollars for rent or bills or food, you'd do it too."

Hawke had never wanted for anything, least of all those things. He had Varric and various other accountants to handle his money. He was vaguely aware of his net worth, or at least knew what was in his Antivan bank account at any given moment. The only things he needed to double check with Varric before purchasing were the lavish vacations he sent his mother on every few months. And those were more for him and his sanity than they were for her.

"I… I guess."

Anders frowned, taking his hands, looking at him seriously. "I don't expect you to understand. But most of those people are good. They just need help. The Chantry won't take care of them. They struggle just make ends meet. And usually they're good at balancing their budgets. But when an unexpected problem happens – someone gets hurt or sick and they have to pay for it, or… or their car breaks down and now they can't get to work, turning in the mage in the free clinic just to catch a break seems like the only thing they can do. I'd like to think that they feel guilt over it."

"Fat lot of good their guilt is to you when you're rotting in the Gallows," Hawke said indignantly. "I won't let anyone do that to you. Ever."

Anders cupped his cheek and kissed him gently. "I know. But please… don't be angry. If you want to make a difference, change the tax laws. Or build up local businesses by getting your friends to shop in Lowtown instead of Hightown. Just knowing that you browse a Mom and Pop shop might attract others to it as well. Use your influence to help those who can't afford what you can."

Hawke, on the surface, did a lot of things for Kirkwall. He attended benefits, or mostly let his mother do that. She and Bethany had their charities they donated to after all. But Anders wasn't asking for money. He wasn't telling Hawke to throw bundles of cash from his car as he drove through Darktown. He was talking influence, using his status. Hawke was used to receiving letters for donations, begging him for money for one thing or another. Even the Chantry asked for tithes. Those letters went straight into the fire.

"I… I'll think about it," he promised, and was rewarded with an enthusiastic kiss.

"Thank you. It means a lot to me, Hawke."

"Oh?" Hawke asked, eyebrow raised. He glanced at the bed and back. "How much?"

Anders gave him an incredulous look. "A lot," he said flatly. "So much that I'll ignore that you just implied you wanted sex for favors."

"What? Oh no, I just want sex for sex," Hawke insisted. "Well?"

Anders sighed, dropping his forehead against Hawke's shoulder, and laughed.


	48. Chapter 48

Anders decided he liked The Hanged Man. He'd seen the restaurant before, passed by it several times. A few of his coworkers from the hospital would go sometimes after work, but he gave the excuse of being too tired or too busy to go. In truth, he never really felt comfortable going out with them. His friends were always Karl's friends first, or Nathaniel's friends. If he'd put forth a bit more effort, he likely would've cultivated his own circle, but after Karl died, it was just easier to stay home and not bother. And now? Now Hawke's friends were his friends. Old habits die hard, he supposed.

"And this is a griffon," Bianca said, shifting so he could see.

She had arbitrarily decided that Anders' lap was her seat now, and was coloring in a sketchpad with a large pack of crayons that spilled out over the table. Next to him was Hawke, arm around the back of the booth, fingers winding around a strand of Anders' hair while he spoke to his mother on the phone. Across from Anders, Fenris was idly turning a pocketknife over in his fingers – a habit that a lot of Hawke's friends seemed to have. And across from Hawke, Varric was smiling fondly at Bianca, sipping a cappuccino with his pinky finger out.

Anders thought it was all very surreal, and wondered when his life turned into a script for a movie. Hawke, despite his connections to the business, was very attentive, almost to a fault sometimes. Anders sometimes felt a little smothered, spending more and more time at the Hawke estate than his own apartment. At Bethany's suggestion, he'd even brought Ser Pounce-a-lot over, and was torn when he discovered she bought him a kitty playpen so he wouldn't get lost in the estate. He ate dinner with them and when Leandra criticized the way he dressed, Carver told him that was her way of finally accepting him into the family.

"Because, Mother," Hawke was saying, "it's a bunch of bull-"

Varric rapped suddenly on the table, frowning at Hawke.

"S-H-I-T," Bianca supplied, not looking up from her coloring.

Hawke grinned. "I have to go. Because I'm busy. Yes, I'm with Anders. Yes, we'll use protection."

Anders felt himself blush, and Varric let out a chuckle, shaking his head. Hawke said goodbye and tucked his phone back in his pocket with an eyeroll.

"Your mother is… different," Anders supplied gently.

"An umbrella is protection in the rain," Bianca said.

Anders wondered how they kept her so innocent. She pressed a red crayon into his hand.

"Draw a heart."

"Do you want a real heart or just the shape?"

"Real one!"

Anders chose a corner of the paper and started sketching an anatomically correct heart the best he could with the crayon provided. A waitress set down two large dishes of loaded cheese fries and few side plates, taking up their glasses for refills.

"Hey Blondie, you're pretty good with kids," Varric noted, dishing out some of the fries for Bianca.

"I've always thought about having a child," Anders admitted. "It was just… never in the cards, I guess." He chanced a look at Hawke, whose eyebrow quirked. "I don't mind being an honorary uncle though." Bianca was a handful, after all.

Hawke leaned over, kissing his cheek. "Gotta take a leak," he said, and slid from the booth.

"So eloquent is our Master Hawke," Varric chuckled.

"He's got his charms," Anders said.

"He must, if you see something in him."

Anders grinned. He did, indeed. Infuriating as Hawke was sometimes, he was sweet, unguarded when they were alone. And as much as he enjoyed being with the family, he did love their alone time.

_"I have to go to work soon," Anders complained, pushing at Hawke who was lying atop him, kissing down his neck._

_Hawke checked the clock. "Shift starts in two hours."_

_"And I still need to shower and feed the cat and eat."_

_"I'll feed the cat while you shower and we can get bagels on the way. There. I saved you an hour and a half. Let me suck you off."_

_Anders laughed, surprised and pleased as he always was when Hawke spoke so frankly about sex. He moaned as Hawke rocked his hips. "Hawke…" He pushed at Hawke's chest._

_Hawke grabbed his wrists and pinned him to the bed, leaning down to kiss him roughly. Anders struggled, but with no real desire to get up. It scared him how easily he trusted Hawke not to hurt him, how much he loved being restrained by him. Ever since their first time, he hoped for more, and Hawke didn't disappoint._

_"Mm. Fine," Anders said. "But then I get to return the favor."_

_He loved Hawke's mischievous grin. "Fair enough."_

"Is that really a heart?" Bianca said, peering at the drawing.

"That's what it looks like," Anders assured her.

"Have you seen one?"

"I've held one in my hands."

Her eyes widened and she looked at Varric. "Daddy, I want a heart!"

Fenris snorted, and Anders grinned apologetically at Varric.

Varric pushed the plate of fries over to her. "Have some fries instead, beautiful."

Bianca grinned and slid off Anders' lap, shifting to her knees to eat. Varric looked at Anders.

"So, I wanted to discuss something with you."

Anders, who was putting the finishing touches on the heart, took a few fries for himself. "What's up?"

"It's a bit of a sensitive topic, considering."

Anders put down the crayon and carefully started packing them up, not sure he was going to be happy with whatever came out of Varric's mouth next. "Okay, I'm listening," he said, when he'd put the drawing supplies aside.

"Hawke paid off your student loans-"

"WHAT?!"

"Wait! I swear there's more to it!"

Had the news been delivered by, say, Hawke himself, Anders would've merely got up and left. He was, however, blocked in by Bianca who didn't seem affected by his outburst, and Varric at least seemed to understand the reason behind Anders' anger. Hawke would simply pass it off as taking care of him, or twist it somehow to make it about him. He could hear him now: 'Now that you don't have to pay the loans, you can quit one of your jobs and spend more time with me!'

"There'd better be, Varric," Anders said, beyond frustrated.

"The interest rates were crazy anyway," Varric said, though he was still wary, as if Anders would start yelling again. "I mean, you think _we're_ criminals? I should go into the student loan business. I'd make a mint. Anyway," he continued, as Anders' fingers curled into fists on the tabletop, "I have an official-unofficial contract. You'd be paying Hawke back so it's less a gift and more a… more of an honest loan," he finished carefully.

It was little consolation. "Let me guess, me paying Hawke back was your idea, not his."

Varric spread his hands apologetically. "Hawke didn't want to hear it. He still thinks he was right about the couch. So, want to see the contract?"

Anders sighed. It seemed despite his earlier convictions, he was turning out to be the world's biggest hypocrite. At least in this case, he wasn't simply taking a bribe or being blackmailed and it wasn't a gift. "Fine."

Varric withdrew the folded papers from his coat and handed it to him. Anders took up a napkin and wiped down the table before spreading the sheets out, reading over them. It reminded him of the contracts he'd signed years ago for financial aid. He started paying them back while he was still in school, but the interest rate went up after the Fereldan economy struggled. There was no interest on Varric's contract, just the flat price.

"You'd get absolutely nothing out of this," Anders noted.

"This isn't about me," Varric said. "It's about Hawke. You think he made Broody here pay him back after he saved him from the Magisters?"

Anders spared a glance at Fenris, who frowned at his plate of fries, and looked back. "Hawke doesn't just do things out of the kindness of his heart, though. Fenris-"

"I chose to stay with him once my debt was repaid," Fenris said quietly, looking up at him. "There are worse choices, worse people to associate with. Hawke is a good man. You'd be foolish not to accept his help."

It was the most Anders thought he'd ever heard Fenris speak either about Hawke or anything. He looked back down at the contract. "No catches or anything?" he asked Varric.

"It's there in black and white. I didn't even include any fine print or double-speak. Believe it or not, Blondie, we actually like you. And what you do for Hawke's temperament."

Anders took a breath. It wasn't like accepting a gift. It was an honest-to-goodness contract. He held out his hand, saw Varric smirk as he handed him the pen. Clicking it open, Anders signed the bottom of both. Varric did the same and gave him a copy, pen and contract disappearing back into his coat pocket just as Hawke came back.

"Took you long enough," Anders quipped.

"Had to take a call. Carver's got eyes on our guy. We go tonight." He looked at Varric. "You in?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Varric said with a smirk.

Hawke looked back to Anders. "I'll give you a ride home?"

Anders lifted Bianca up and slid out of the booth. She turned for a hug, which he gave. Varric moved so Fenris could get out, and Anders noticed Bianca glared at Fenris until he stooped for hug as well. Hawke clapped Varric on the back, scooped Bianca up for a hug and kiss, which made her giggle, and handed her over to Varric.

"Tonight," he said to Varric, who nodded.

They left, Fenris trailing behind and sliding into the backseat. Hawke was positively thrumming with excitement. Anders wasn't sure how to feel about this.

"You're going to be okay, right?"

"Of course," Hawke said. "This has been a long time coming. Isabela's got the intel we need and Carver knows the plan inside and out. I'll have Sebastian and Varric and some of my Coterie boys, Merrill running interference… Relax."

Anders frowned. "'Relax,' he says." He chewed his lip a little, thinking. "I… could come with you. Just to make sure you're okay."

"No," Hawke said at once, and Anders recognized the tone. There would be no arguing.

"Would you call me when it's over?" Anders asked, feeling anxious. What if Hawke got seriously injured? It wasn't as if he would bring Bethany, and Merrill had no talent for healing. Sure Hawke would have a lot of muscle, but that meant nothing if he got shot.

"Of course I will."

From the backseat, Fenris made a noise that sounded like an amused snort.

"When I want an opinion on my personal life, I'll give it to you," Hawke said, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. Then, to Anders, "Chances are it won't be before dawn."

"I'll be home all night," Anders said. He doubted he would be getting any sleep.

Hawke parked in front of the apartment building and looked over. "I'll be fine. It's not my first rodeo."

Anders was about to protest but Hawke pulled him into a fierce kiss, mouth open, tongue thrusting forward. He let out a surprised, somewhat embarrassing squeak as Hawke held him in place. It was to reassure him, to calm him. In that kiss, Anders could feel the cocky arrogance that was essentially Hawke. 

Hawke pulled back. "Don't worry about me."

Anders had grabbed the front of his shirt instinctively, and now, foreheads pressed together, lips so close he could feel Hawke's breath upon them, he didn't want to let him go. "I can't help it."

Hawke chuckled and kissed him again, drawing his lower lip into his mouth and sucking. "Mm. I'll come by after and we can finish this."

There was an uncomfortable, "Hmph," from the backseat. Anders had momentarily forgotten they weren't alone.

Hawke grinned and pressed his lips to Anders' ear, murmuring so Fenris couldn't hear, "When I get in, you can show me how to fuck you properly." He nipped the lobe, then licked. "And then you can do it to me."

Anders let out a shaking breath which was swallowed by another of Hawke's kisses. When it ended and Hawke was sitting back, starting the engine, Anders fumbled uselessly for a moment for the door handle.

"See you later, sexy," Hawke said easily.

"Ngh." Anders slid out and turned around, looking at him. "I…" He glanced at Fenris, then back to Hawke. "I'll see you." He closed the door, and headed upstairs. If Fenris hadn't been there, he might have said what had been at the tip of his tongue for days now.

He unlocked his door and stepped in, flipping on the lamp out of habit. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he frowned, seeing a text from Hawke. Wondering if he'd left something in the car, he opened it and read.

**From: Hawke  
I love you too. Delete this.**

Anders felt a surge of ambivalent emotion. Only Hawke could make him feel so elated and so irritated all at once. With a shaky, nervous laugh, he walked down the hall, staring at the text.

"Well, well, well," said a voice, and Anders startled, looking up. "It seems we finally meet Hawke's pet healer."


	49. Chapter 49

His first instinct was to turn and run back down the hall, but before his muscles could respond, the muzzle of a gun was pressed to the spot just behind his ear. He slowly looked over, hands spreading, rising automatically, gripping his phone. The man who spoke was standing in the middle of his wrecked living room with half a dozen others, smirking and looking all too pleased with himself.

"Check his pockets."

Anders was shoved face first against the wall while they rifled through his pockets, pulling out his wallet, keys, and knife that he'd taken from Hawke's table the first Sunday night dinner. They wrenched the phone from his hand and he saw the man catch it, reading the text and smirking. His first wild, irrational thought wasn't about his fear, but how the man had no right to read something so private. He was turned around again to face them, and the man stepped up. He was older, grey hair, balding. But he had the look of a seasoned fighter with a long angry scar down his cheek.

"So I'm curious," he said, leaning in, "why does Hawke keep you around? Just the healing magic or because you polish his knob?"

Anders shoved him back and two of the men grabbed his arms, slamming him back and keeping him pinned.

"Fuck you," Anders spat. His knees were trembling, heart pounding, but his voice was even and steady.

"If you were my type, I'd take you up on it. But that's the reason I took Isabela."

Anders' eyes widened, finally realizing who this was. "Meeran." Hawke had been careful to try to keep the details away from him, but he caught snippets here and there as it was discussed. 

Meeran smirked. "Hawke's become an arrogant little shit since I last saw him," Meeran said, pressing the muzzle of his gun below Anders' chin.

Anders swallowed, the cold metal biting into his skin. It was too surreal, he'd only ever seen things like this on TV and in movies.

"So we searched your place," Meeran said. "Found a supply of lyrium, but nothing else of note." He stepped back, turning around, and gestured to his men.

They righted the couch and Meeran sat, Anders taking in the large slashes in the cushions. Meeran crossed his legs, arms along the back, tapping the gun against the leather.

"What do you want?" Anders asked. He tried to pull away from the hands pinning him to the wall, but it was futile.

"Oh I want Hawke," Meeran said simply. "Bastard threw me out on my arse years ago. Had to claw my way back into reputable ranks among the Nevarran fuckheads. They think they're better just because I'm a Marcher. But I showed them. Then I received a generous offer. Take out the Amell family head and any other pieces of shit in his service and get a nice chunk of the city for myself. So I call in a few favors and here I am. But I never expected to find out that Hawke's keeping a lover. And a mage to boot."

Anders watched the mildly amused expression on Meeran's face fade into a leer. He swallowed again, and kept silent.

"So we did our research on you, of course. Found out where you lived, what you mean to him." He reached into his pocket, pulling out Anders' phone and gave it a little shake. "Easy when he's wearing his heart all over his sleeve. Maker but he's gone soft."

Anders disagreed. But he didn't think saying, 'My boyfriend will castrate you then feed you your own balls,' would do him any favors. He'd never thought of himself as the damsel in distress type, but now in a room with several armed men where death was looking like a possibility, a part of him did hope that Hawke would swoop in and save him.

"And throwing that whore at me?" Meeran laughed.

Anders clenched his fists. He liked Isabela. Once she backed off the sexual innuendos around him, she was actually quite a lovely person, and it was obvious she took her business seriously.

"It was such an obvious, rookie move. As if any of the Hawke family would ever turn on him. They always were disgustingly loyal." He leaned forward, licking his lips. "Her pussy tasted pretty sweet, though. Right up until I shot her in it."

Anders' eyes widened, jaw dropping. He felt sick, stomach swirling, praying to the Maker that Meeran was bluffing.

"He's always been a little sloppy though, Hawke. Didn't care who he hurt to get where he is. I worked with that fucker for years and he repays me by turning me in over a contract and recruiting one of my boys behind my back."

"I bet your 'boy' was overjoyed he didn't have to work for a piece of shit like you anymore."

Anders bit his tongue, but too late. One of the men punched him across the face, head snapping to the side. Anders could recall the first time he was punched. He was fourteen, arguing with his drunken father over something insignificant before school. One punched knocked him to the floor, and ten seconds after it happened, he was running out the door. Karl had found him behind the school, curled up with a bruised face. Anders refused to tell him what happened, but Karl took him to the nurse and excused him from the first half of classes that day.

This hurt, but it was the feeling of helplessness that followed that was worse.

"So I'm wondering if he ever told you the truth about your dead lover," Meeran said, leaning back again, but never got to finish.

From somewhere amidst the wreckage of his apartment, Ser Pounce-a-lot leapt onto Meeran's face, letting out an animalist scream, hissing and spitting as he sank his claws into the bald pate.

"POUNCE!" Anders howled, wrenching away from the men.

Perhaps it was shock or surprise, but they let him go. Meeran had leapt to his feet, grabbing at Pounce's back. He ripped him off and threw him against the wall. He heard a pained cry and then a thump as Pounce hit the carpet. Anders started forward, but Meeran backhanded him. There was a flurry of rage and fists as Anders felt Meeran unleash his anger on him. The butt of the pistol smacked against his head and his vision blurred. He fell to the ground, curling up and received a kick to his stomach that caused him to wretch. Through the pain and the swirling of the room, he saw Ser Pounce get unsteadily to his feet and slink to the back of the apartment, into the bedroom.

_Oh thank the Maker._

The relief he felt was short lived as Meeran yanked him up by the hair. His scalp burned as strands were torn out. Meeran brought the butt of the gun down again and pain blossomed instantly from the middle of his face, his nose broken and streaming blood. Meeran released him and he staggered, tripping over the fallen coffee table and fell hard on the carpet.

"Someone get me a towel," Meeran growled. "Andraste's weeping cunt, that fucking stings."

_Good,_ Anders thought. _Hope it gets infected and you die a horrible slow death._

"Get him up," Meeran said. "Hawke'll be at Athenril's tonight. He wants his precious pet back in one piece, he'll pay me double what this job's worth."

"Hawke will end you," Anders coughed, tasting blood. He chanced a bit of healing magic to alleviate just a little of the pain and repair the internal injuries from Meeran's kicks.

He was hauled to his feet, a sack pulled over his face and drawn shut. They dragged him down the hall and he struggled, trying to kick out at them as they wrenched his arms behind his back. Something metal crunched against his arm and he screamed in agony as it broke. Another sharp blow to the back of his head, and everything went black.


	50. Chapter 50

"Easy, tiger."

Anders slowly came to, hearing the light, lilting tone of Isabela's voice. Everything was fuzzy like he'd been drinking all night. His body ached, and he felt dried blood flaking from his face. Something cold pressed against his cheek, and when he finally was able to focus, he realized he was lying prone in the dirt, arms and legs bent back and restrained. They'd hog-tied him. His hands were numb, thighs and shoulders aching from the strain. 

Not too far away in a similar position was Isabela, one eye swollen shut, her lip puffy and bleeding. Her shirt was torn, revealing a red bra, and her mini skirt was pulled up in the back. He could see blood on her bare thigh, and he felt an incandescent rage shoot through him. He started struggling.

"Easy!" Isabela hissed. "You'll dislocate a shoulder, and it won't do any good. Trust me."

His arm where they'd broken it was sore, but mostly healed. His healing magic had started mending his wounds when he was unconscious. It was something he'd wondered about in theory but had never been able to put into practice. Little wounds like paper cuts or stubbed toes would heal overnight, but he'd never suffered anything like what Meeran had put him through.

_Good to know,_ he thought bitterly.

"Where are we?" he asked Isabela, trying to look around. For all the good his magic did, his head was still spinning slightly. 

The room was the size of a large closet and dark save for a single dim bulb overhead. 

"Darktown. Athenril's place." She sighed. "I should've been ready for this."

Anders squeezed his eyes shut. "You can't blame yourself for this. These are dangerous people, they-"

Isabela laughed. "Oh, love. Really, save your strength. When I get out of these cuffs, I'm kicking Meeran's sorry ass across the Free Marches. He'll be lucky if there's anything left once I'm through."

He marveled at her resolve. How long had she been held here? Raped? Possibly tortured? Definitely beat up, as her body was bruised.

"Did they shoot you?" he asked, remembering Meeran's earlier words.

"No," she said. "I'm a bargaining chip. Same as you. Meeran's got a deal with someone else, but if Hawke gives him a better one, he'll let us go."

"Hawke's not going to deal with him now!" Anders said. At least, he hoped Hawke wouldn't. "Meeran can't possibly think-"

"Never underestimate the stupidity of truly desperate men," Isabela said. "Meeran might think he holds all the chips, but he doesn't. And once Hawke finds out Meeran has you too, well... He'll burn down the whole of Kirkwall to make sure you're safe."

Anders swallowed hard, heart thudding. "I'm not… I don't mean _that_ much to him."

"Love, he's completely enamored with you. Totally over the moon. And you're blind if you don't see that. So chin up, hot stuff."

He thought about the text message Hawke sent him. Isabela wasn't just saying things to make him feel better. Hawke loved him.

Deciding he could try to help at least a little, Anders wriggled carefully over to her. "Here. It's not much." He rolled to his side, hands brushing her shoulders. Numb though they were, he pushed a bit of healing magic into his palms.

Isabela understood, and Anders closed his eyes, letting his fingertips play over her face, healing her eye and lip, and eased some of the aching muscles. Sweating from the effort, he rolled back, wincing as his arm throbbed. Her face was still bloody, but she could see now.

"I could… your legs," he offered.

Isabela scoffed. "You mean my twat. Barely bruised. Meeran's got to use a magnifying glass to find his cock when it's hard and all the Viagra in Thedas couldn't help him keep it up."

Anders had seen women come into his clinic, victims of sexual assault. He wondered if her joking insults were simply a defense mechanism. He didn't press the issue.

"You know how to fight at all?" Isabela asked.

Anders was fairly sure she didn't mean the scuffles he got into as a wayward teenager. "I broke my hand once punching a kid in the face."

She gave him an incredulous look.

"We were the same age," Anders amended. "He insulted our English teacher."

Even before he realized how enamored he was with Karl, he was defending his honor.

"…You really have no idea how adorable you are, do you?"

Anders blushed, unsure if that was a compliment, an insult, or both. "So what do we do?"

"Normally I'd be able to pick the cuffs and untie myself. I'm good with knots and rope."

Anders wondered if everything with her was an innuendo. Then, he reasoned, she was probably just trying to put him at ease. Regardless, he appreciated it.

"But Meeran knows me, and there's nothing to pick them with. Unless you have something in your pockets."

Anders remembered Meeran's men rifling through his pockets. "Nothing. No bobby pins or anything."

"Damn." There was a pause, then, "Your hair tie."

Anders frowned, looking at her. "What?"

"Your hair tie, love. Some have metal holding the ends together. Bring your head here."

Anders did as he was told, wincing as she took a few strands of hair with it. "I don't know. I never think about what kinds I buy. I just-"

Isabela let out a laugh. "Yes!" She grinned, and Anders watched her fingers work the elastic. "Thank the Maker for cheap accessories."

"…Ow."

She winked at him. "When we get out of this, I'll take you shopping."

She broke the metal from the elastic, Anders yelping as it ricocheted, smacking him in the cheek.

"Oh don't be a baby," she scoffed. Her eyes closed, lips pursed as she pressed the metal into the keyhole and shimmied the lock. "Ah, jackpot." Once the cuffs were off, she made short work of the ropes, stretching her sore limbs before helping him out as well.

Anders immediately curled inward, wincing as he worked the soreness from his limbs. She ruffled his hair and crouched low. The door's window was frosted glass, no way for them to see out. He mirrored her stance, staying under it.

"He likely has a guard right outside," she said quietly. "Stay back and let me take care of this."

He was too happy to listen, pressing himself against the back wall, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He'd never appreciated how quiet, how precise she was. She opened the door and slipped out. There was an almost inaudible _crunch_ and Isabela was dragging the unconscious man into the room, pulling the door shut behind. At least, Anders hoped he was just unconscious.

She pulled off his boots and tugged his pants down. Then, perhaps sensing Anders' confused stare, turned to grin at him. "Can't stage a rescue in a mini-skirt," she said, and tugged them on, belting them around her slim waist before unzipping the skirt and tossing it away. "Alas."

Anders looked at the man, and felt slightly sick. He wasn't unconscious. He was definitely dead, his neck broken. "Did… you have to kill him?"

"Yes," she said simply, picking up his gun and removing an ammo clip from his jacket pocket. She checked the rounds before looking back at him. "Anders."

He startled. She'd never used his name before. "Huh?"

"This is serious," she said, her tone indicating exactly what she thought about his perceived delicate sensibilities. "You want to get out alive, you follow my lead, and worry about your guilty conscience later. These degenerates would see you dead or worse, got it?"

He swallowed hard, mouth dry, and tried to speak. He couldn't, and nodded instead.

"Good," she said, and racked the gun. "Stay behind me."

Feeling sick and dizzy, nerves alight with fear and anxiety, he followed her out of the room.


	51. Chapter 51

Breaking down the door was not an option, though he wanted to, just to see the look on Athenril's face. Instead, Hawke waited in the alley, the body of a man at his feet, heart ripped out of his chest. Fenris, who'd taken the guard out easily, scaled the wall, checking the rooftop to scout. Hawke felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and lifted it to his ear.

"I have eyes on Isabela."

Hawke smirked. "Goo-"

"Hawke."

He didn't like Fenris's tone. "What?"

"Anders is with her."

Hawke tightened his grip on his gun. "What."

"They're heading opposite of you. Skylight cuts out. I'll drop in and open your door."

"Fenris…"

"Sebastian's taking the front. Don't be foolish."

The connection dropped, and Hawke had half a mind to call Fenris back, to scream at him for his assumptions, for calling him a fool. But damn it, he was right. And how had Meeran got Anders? When? They'd only been apart a few hours. This changed nothing, he knew that. The plan would be the same. But in addition to his worry for Isabela, though he knew she could handle herself, now he had Anders on his mind as well. Business and pleasure, mixing uncomfortably. He had to be careful not to let his feelings become a liability or he could chance getting the others hurt or worse.

The side door opened and Fenris was there, looking at him expectantly.

"I know what I'm doing," Hawke said.

Fenris nodded. The sounds of gunfire came from somewhere ahead, and Hawke gripped his gun tightly, steadying the butt with his other hand as he followed Fenris through the narrow hallway. They looked into each room, careful to make sure no one would get the drop on them from behind. The building used to house offices before the economy fell and Darktown was given to the rats. Broken glass crunched under his boots, the flickering fluorescents above casting a strobe effect as they moved forward slowly. The hall widened to an intersection, a double-back staircase directly ahead.

Hawke flattened himself against the wall as the sound of gunshots rang through the area. A body dropped over the railing from the floor above and landed on the staircase. One of the Red Iron, judging from the colors of the clothing. He let out a shrill whistle, and was relieved to hear it returned. He waited, and watched Sebastian round the corner of the stairs. He was grinning, cocky as he was, and hopped down. He was about to greet them when he was jumped from the side, tackled to the floor. Hawke pivoted, aimed, and squeezed the trigger of his gun.

The body fell limp atop Sebastian, who shoved him off. "Bloody flames," he muttered angrily.

Fenris smirked and reached down, pulling him to his feet. "Watch your nine o'clock."

Sebastian scowled, brushing himself off. "Carver was supposed to clear that wing."

Hawke gritted his teeth. Carver was supposed to have cleared the south. That he let a straggler get free was irritating and concerning. He looked at Fenris, who nodded, and took off in the direction from which the ambusher had come. Hawke looked back to Sebastian.

"Front clear?"

"Far as we can tell, Athenril and Meeran are on the floor above that one. This place is crawling, but my boys are on it."

So were Hawke's. Tomwise had several loyal friends who were all too willing to avenge him. "You remember the blueprints."

"Open warehouse up there," Sebastian said. "Halfway through construction until they shut it down. Lots of places for Meeran to hide, but you think he'll be in the open, don't you?"

"He always was an arrogant son of a bitch."

"Shall we, then?" Sebastian asked inclining his head toward the stairs.

Hawke debated telling him about Anders, but didn't. He wouldn't let the anxiety he felt now cloud his judgment. He followed Sebastian up carefully, checking the overhang of the stairs as he ascended. Bodies of Meeran's Red Iron littered the hall, blood spattering the already stained walls. He crept along the left side as Sebastian took the right. They moved quietly and quickly, Hawke pressing open a fire escape stairwell. He exchanged a look with Sebastian and slipped in, keeping his eyes up as Sebastian watched their backs.

They gained the third floor, a body slung over the rails. One of the Flint Company men. Sebastian swore quietly, kneeling down, tucking his gun into the waistband of his pants. Hawke kept watch as Sebastian checked the man's pockets, then removed a ring from his finger.

"I went to his wedding," Sebastian said, slipping the gold band into his pocket. 

Hawke frowned. "I'll make sure his family is taken care of."

Sebastian sighed sadly and stood, gun out once more as they pressed forward. The third floor wasn't carpeted, but looked cleaner than the rest of the building. Rooms were unfinished, obviously mid-construction before the building contract was canceled. The door at the end of the hall was half-open, and they could hear voices beyond, but Hawke couldn't make out anything specific. He looked to Sebastian, who had his head cocked, listening. He looked up at Hawke and held up two fingers, then closed his hand into a fist.

_Meeran and Athenril,_ Hawke thought. _Good._

He'd be able to get rid of them both at the same time. He nodded at Sebastian who gave another signal as they approached the door: all clear. Not that Hawke thought there would be any traps near it. Athenril might have set something up if she'd been working alone, but Meeran wouldn't waste the time. Hawke kicked the door in, gun raised, Sebastian following. Two shots behind Hawke and he heard the sounds of bodies thumping before Sebastian drew level with him.

The expansive room was crowded with building materials, crates, a large spool of wire almost as tall as Hawke, several sawhorses and a pile of lumber. The outside wall was unfinished, two huge sheets of plastic that flapped with the wind. In the very center of it all was a folding table, Meeran sitting behind it in some mockery of a super villain, a gun on the table in front of him. Next to him stood Athenril, her arms crossed, looking at Hawke with her calculating stare. Hawke fought the impulse to shoot her in the face.

"Well it's about time you showed up," Meeran said. "I was starting to get bored."

"So you were just sitting here, waiting for me to do all the work. Sounds about right," Hawke spat. "You know I'm going to kill you."

Meeran signaled to his men. From behind a stack of crates, two of his Red Iron shoved Isabela and Anders forward, pinning one arm behind their backs, the other above their heads. Isabela struggled, looking angry and somewhat annoyed, where Anders simply had his head down. Hawke swallowed hard, adjusting the grip on his gun.

"Get off!" Isabela snarled, trying to kick back at the man holding her.

Both were shoved to their knees in front of the folding table, guns pressed against the backs of their heads. Hawke waited. For the moment, Meeran held the cards. Meeran, seemingly pleased with himself, stood, taking up his gun and walked around the table.

"They tried to get away of course. Almost managed too. But not for nothing did I bring Athenril in on this. Did you honestly think that throwing Isabela at me would have me fooled?"

"Actually," Hawke said, "there was a good bet it would turn into a hostage situation." He wasn't counting on Anders being part of the equation though. "I had faith in Isabela. Still do," he added, winking at her.

Meeran grabbed her by the back of the hair, Isabela reaching back to claw at his arm. He shoved her forward, cocking his gun.

"I think I'll kill her first. Then we can bargain for this one," he said, kicking Anders in the side.

Hawke, to his credit, did not leap forward as Anders fell to the ground, gasping. The faintest movement to his left caught his eye. The flapping of the builder's plastic wasn't it though. There was a shadow. Meeran, laughing and looking down at Anders, didn't notice. 

"Maybe," Meeran said to Anders, "he'll even tell you how he was involved with your old lover's death."

Anders was kneeling, one hand on the ground for balance, the other gripping his side. He looked up at Hawke, his expression pained and confused. Hawke spared him the barest of glances, quickly shoving and then carefully boxing away whatever feelings threatened to bubble up. He needed to focus.

Meeran pointed the gun at Isabela again. "Any last words before I kill you, whore?"

"Choke on a dick, asshole," she spat.

A shot echoed through the room but it wasn't from Meeran. He let out a cry, dropping his gun to grab at his shoulder. Fenris leapt in through the window and didn't hesitate to squeeze off another shot while Isabela snatched up Meeran's gun, grabbing Anders by the back of the shirt and dragging him out of the fray. In the confusion, Hawke lost track of Sebastian and Fenris, but saw Carver race in and tackle one of the Red Iron to the ground, skidding along the broken bits of drywall.

He turned in time to block a punch to his face, returning the favor and didn't hesitate to shoot the man in the chest. Meeran was backing away now, blood seeping through his fingers as he tried to find an exit. Hawke didn't hesitate, racing toward him, arm out to catch him brutally in the throat. Meeran let out a gasp and fell to the ground. Hawke straddled his chest, delivering a punch to his face before pressing his gun to Meeran's forehead.

"Wait!"

"No."

Hawke squeezed the trigger, satisfied to see Meeran's wide, lifeless eyes. There was a scream behind him and he turned, standing to see Isabela deliver a kick to Athenril's face. The smuggler went down hard, and a second later Isabela was on top of her. She reached down and grabbed Athenril's head, twisting it with a vicious ferocity, snapping her neck. Hawke quickly took stock of the room and his people.

"Carver." No answer. "Carver!"

Carver groaned. Sebastian shoved aside the body draped over Carver, and Hawke could see him now, barely moving, white as a sheet, knife stuck between his ribs. Hawke vaulted the table and came to a skidding halt on his knees next to his brother.

"Carver!?"

Carver's head lolled to the side, his lips red with blood, a stark contrast to his pale face. "Gare…"

Hawke cradled his head, panic now starting to creep in. "You fucker, don't you die."

Carver coughed up a bit of blood. "Sorry," he managed.

From behind them came a voice. "Let me help."


	52. Chapter 52

They turned almost as one, Hawke and Sebastian on their knees, Isabela and Fenris standing a few feet away. Anders, bruised and limping, face flecked with dry blood, emerged from behind a stack of crates. He was still clutching his side, but his expression was resolute as he dropped down next to Carver. Hawke quickly moved aside, waiting, a sick feeling swirling in his stomach. Anders' palms lit with bright blue light and he pressed one against Carver's stomach, the other on his chest, the knife between them. There was a pained grunt from Carver, blood bubbling over his lips as Anders pressed down.

"Sebastian, remove the knife." Anders' voice was quiet, but calm.

Hawke had seen him heal before, had watched as he patched up patients in the clinic. He saw him repair the damage to Sebastian's leg, but he had never seen this before. Anders frowned in concentration, seemingly unaware of the carnage around him, the bodies, the blood. Sebastian pulled the knife from Carver's chest, Carver's body convulsing. Anders moved his hands to the wound, breathing heavily, sweat sliding down his brow as he concentrated.

Isabela stood, one hand balled into a fist, holding it tightly to her chest, the other gripping Fenris's wrist. Fenris's expression was almost carefully blank, his brow furrowed slightly. Sebastian watched, wide-eyed, and they were all quiet as Anders worked. Carver lay perfectly still for a moment, and Hawke saw the wound close. There was a crackle of electricity in the air and the light in Anders' palms turned from blue to white as he pressed down quickly. Carver's body jolted and his eyes flew open. He started to cough, and Anders helped him sit up slowly.

"Easy," Anders said. "You're going to be sore. Still not in any shape to be up and about."

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief. His phone vibrated and he pulled it out. "Varric. Talk to me."

"Gunfire alerted someone, police are on the way. Merrill's doing her best to scramble the information now."

"Working as fast as I can!" Merrill said a bit desperately.

"Calm down, Daisy. No one's criticizing you," Varric said gently, then to Hawke, "I'm guessing since you're on the phone with me, you're not dead."

"Everyone's fine. Sort of. Carver got a knife to the ribs."

"Junior's dead?"

"WHAT?!" Merrill's worried cry.

"Tell Merrill her boyfriend's fine. We got to go, Varric."

"Take the south side," Varric said, then something muffled to Merrill. "Fuck, Hawke. They took Anders?"

"He's fine," Hawke said quickly.

"They know. APB out on Meeran. Red Iron left evidence in his apartment. You have to get out of there."

"Well I'll just have to say I rescued him, won't I?" Hawke snapped, getting to his feet. "South side," he said to the others. "Watch for cops."

Sebastian and Fenris took Carver between them, hauling him up. Isabela touched Anders' shoulder, and he pulled away, arms wrapped around himself. She frowned, but followed the other three out.

"Hawke, his brother's coming."

"Fuck! Why can't anything just go right?" Hawke sighed. "Fine. I'll figure it out. Get the rest of them out of there." He hung up and turned to Anders. "Are you okay?" he asked, breathing for what felt like the first time since he entered the room.

He stepped forward to cup Anders' face, frowning when Anders stepped back, uncrossing his arms.

"Anders… what?"

Anders shook his head. "The police are coming, aren't they?"

"Well yeah. We have to get out of here." Hawke didn't reach for him again, figuring Anders was merely shaken by the whole ordeal.

"Do they know I was taken from my apartment?"

"Apparently Meeran's not flawless. Some evidence got left behind."

Anders swallowed, then nodded. "Okay. Go."

"So we have to- What?" Hawke asked, stopping mid-gesture. "Anders, we have to go. Now."

"No. You do."

"What are you talking about?" Hawke was confused. If they left now, they had a good chance of outrunning the police, getting back to his estate would be easy enough.

"And if I'm not here and my brother comes to you to ask you what happened… Hawke, how is that going to look? I'll cover for you. I'll… I'll say they turned on each other. I'll figure something out. Go."

"No! I'm not just going to leave you-"

"Do you love me?"

Hawke cut off, looking at those tired, sad eyes. "I…"

"You sent me a message. The last thing I saw from you before they took me."

Hawke swallowed hard. "Yes."

"Then leave."

It didn't make sense. But sounds of police sirens in the distance kicked Hawke's fight-or-flight instinct into gear. "Anders-"

Anders released a force wave of magic, sending Hawke stumbling backward. "Go!"

Hawke took one last look at him before turning and heading out the door.

-

Anders watched him go, and only when he was out of sight did he settle down on one of the crates, shaking. The adrenaline that kept him going was gone now, his mana almost depleted. He rested his forearms on his knees, hunched over. He'd never felt more tired or drained in his life. It no longer felt like a movie, there was no cloud of surreality hanging over him. The bodies of the dead men lay around him, Meeran's lifeless corpse just a few feet away. Anders felt sick, not satisfied. Meeran deserved prison, yes. Not death. But he'd watched from his spot hidden behind the crates. The cold fury in Hawke's expression as he put a bullet in his head. Was it that easy for him to kill someone?

Anders closed his eyes, looking down at the palms of his hands, covered in Carver's blood. He remembered everyone who ever died in his care. He remembered Karl's body when they disconnected him from life support. Karl… Meeran said that Hawke was involved. How? Did he shoot Karl? Accident or not, was he sleeping now with his deceased lover's murderer? His chest hitched and he leaned forward, head between his knees now, trying to keep from hyperventilating.

There was a commotion in the hall and the door opened. Police swarmed, radios blaring. But Anders heard one voice through it all and reached up, gripping his brother's arm.

"Anders!" Justice was panicked. Justice never panicked. He got angry or confused. Possibly concerned, but panic?

Anders sat up slowly, looking at his brother kneeling in front of him, felt the calloused hands cupping his face as he looked into those cool blue eyes. He forced a smile, but it came out tight-lipped.

"You're bleeding?!"

Anders shook his head. "Not mine," he choked. "I'm… "

'Fine' seemed like the wrong word. He was the furthest thing from fine. He was shaking hard now, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself. Justice called for something, and a minute later a heavy blanket was drawn over Anders' shoulders. He let himself be drawn into Justice's arms, pulled to his feet and away from the carnage. Anders saw now the rest of the building he'd been brought into unconscious, not recognizing the street.

Several police cruisers were pulled up in front, their blue and red swirling lights permeating the darkness. Anders kept his head down as news vans pulled in, and Justice opened the back of his car, helping Anders to sit down, and crouched in front of him. From the front of the cruiser, he heard a babble of police and dispatch chatter, officers reporting in. He couldn't discern any of it though, just a mess of names, codes, and numbers. He wanted to go home. He wanted his cat. He wanted to curl up for days and not move.

"I'm sorry," he said to Justice, because it seemed the right thing to say. Justice was right. Had been right. Hawke was dangerous.

"No, you've nothing to be sorry about. What happened? When you didn't answer your phone, I dropped by the apartment to bring you supper – the door was open and…"

Anders squeezed his eyes shut. "Meeran and the Red Iron took me. They were trying to decide what to do with me. A bargaining chip, I think, for Hawke. There was a disagreement and fighting broke out. I dove behind some crates."

Justice stood, hand on Anders' head. "It's okay. I'll take care of things. They're going to want a statement at the station."

Anders nodded and pulled his feet into the car, staring down, holding the blanket tightly around him. Justice squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm okay," Anders whispered.

"I'll be only a few minutes. I promise."

The door shut and Anders turned to look out. Police tape was drawn tightly around the building, uniformed men and women holding back the reporters. Anders watched as body bag after body bag was carried out, lined up, the flashes of camera bulbs popping. He turned away from the scene, closing his eyes, and tried not to think of Hawke.


	53. Chapter 53

Justice helped him clean his hands and change into one of his brother's spare undershirts as they took his own for evidence. Anders was vaguely aware that once they ran the DNA they would find that it was Carver's blood, but he didn't care at the moment. He sat in a cold room on a chair in a sparse office. When he gave his statement, his voice was hollow and detached. The story he made up was flimsy, and he was fairly sure the other detective didn't buy a word of it. The door opened and he looked up, expecting to see Justice, hoping he could go home.

"Hawke."

"Anders!" Hawke was at his side in a second, leaning over to hug him tightly.

Anders did not return it. He watched Hawke pull back, peering into his face, worried. Anders felt sick, and batted his hands away.

"I'm so sorry," Hawke said. 

He cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead. Anders could feel his lips, burning hot against his skin, and closed his eyes. Reaching up, he gripped Hawke's wrists tightly and pushed him away.

"I told them Meeran and Athenril fought over what to do with me and there was a shootout. That's all I can do for you."

"You idiot," Hawke breathed. "I could've smoothed the whole thing if you'd only come. Why didn't you come?"

Anders released him and stood up, moving to the other side of the room, as far away from him as he could get. Hawke made to step forward, but stopped, perhaps sensing something very wrong. Anders shivered in the undershirt, pressed against the cold wall. He finally looked at Hawke, swallowing.

"Did you kill Karl?"

The weight of the world was in that question. Would the answer matter? Anders had been through so much over the last few hours, he had no idea which way was up anymore. His feelings for Hawke had gone from complicated to almost crystal clear and now he wasn't sure where he stood. There was a muddied feeling in his gut. He wanted to love him, to be with him, to let Hawke take care of him. But he couldn't.

"It was my fault," Hawke finally said, his expression grim. "Greagoir was the target. One of my men pulled the trigger and he was… Anders, I am so sor-"

"Don't," Anders choked out. "Don't you fucking dare say you're sorry." He fought for control, proud when managed not to cry. "I don't… I don't want to see you again. Ever."

Hawke took a step forward. "Anders-"

"No! Hawke, I mean it. I can't… I thought I could. I thought I could just ignore what you do. Push it behind me. Pretend that this isn't real. But you… You kill people. You put your friends in danger. You…"

Hawke took another step and Anders uncrossed his arms, fury fueling his resolve.

"Go," Anders said, as calmly as he could. "Never contact me again. I mean it."

They stared at each other for what seemed like an hour. Anders clenched his fists, taking deep breaths to keep himself calm, to keep from throwing himself at Hawke either to punch him or kiss him. He hated him and loved him, and it was too painful, too confusing to even look at him. Hawke swallowed visibly, then nodded. He stopped at the door.

"…I love you," he whispered, and left.

 _Maker damn him,_ Anders thought viciously.

The arrogant asshole would have to throw that out to get the last word. Carefully he made his way back to his seat and settled down to wait for Justice.

-

Hawke ignored Aveline as he stalked back through the station and got into his car, slamming the door. Varric had gotten everyone out fine. Merrill managed to hold the police off long enough. And when he received a call from Aveline, telling him that Anders was in the station after what appeared to be a smuggling job gone bad, Hawke finally was able to go to him. Aveline had, in no uncertain terms, told Hawke that it had better not have been about him, and then more plainly let him know he'd better lawyer up just in case.

Hawke didn't care. Someone would take care of the details of that, likely Varric. His mind was on Anders, only Anders. And when his lover pushed him away, he'd been confused. And then Anders said Karl's name, and a part of Hawke realized his mistake. Had he spoken to Anders about, would Anders have accepted it? Would he be with him right now, holding him, comforting him? Hawke didn't know.

He drove. His phone rang and he answered.

"Garrett, what happened?" Bethany.

"It's done," he said, not sure what he was referring to. Meeran, the Red Iron, his relationship with Anders, himself. "Leave me alone, Bethy."

"Are you okay? You sound awful!"

"Bethany," he growled. "Leave. Me. Alone."

She started to speak again and he hung up on her. The phone rang a second later and he threw it out the window onto the highway. He wasn't sure how long he drove for, seeing signs for Starkhaven before he finally pulled onto the cloverleaf to turn around.

Anders' words rang hollowly in his memory.

_"I don't want to see you again. Ever."_

He felt a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach. 

He pulled off to the side of the highway, threw his hazard lights on, and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

It was over.

-

The door opened and Anders looked up. "Justice, I really-"

He stopped, eyes wide. He'd only ever seen this woman before on TV, in the news. Her blond hair framed her face in waves, the cut of her business suit sharp and professional. She stepped in, rounded the desk, and dropped a folder in front of him. He glanced down at it, and she leaned forward, fists pressed against the desktop.

"From your expression, mage, you know who I am."

"Commander," he whispered.

Commander Meredith of the Kirkwall Templars smirked and flipped the file open. "The captain might believe your story, but I do not. Do you know what this is?" she asked, holding a sheet of paper up between her fingertips.

He did. "Report of Unsanctioned Use of Magic." Dubbed "RUUMs" by the mages on the hospital staff, they were what you wanted to avoid at all costs.

"Someone used magic in that building tonight. And seeing as how you were the only mage there…"

Anders' blood ran cold. The Gallows. They were going to lock him up in the Gallows.

"Of course," she said, flipping the file shut, picking it up, "I could make this go away under one condition."

Anders looked up at her, not saying anything. She walked back around the desk and leaned against it, arms crossed. The folder tapped against her arm as he waited. She smiled, a vicious, calculating expression with no warmth.

"What can you tell me," she said slowly, "about Garrett Hawke?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Well, we still have the sequel to get through, which will be posted in a much more timely manner than this was, I think. Rest assured, we will have a resolution!
> 
> Thank you SO much everyone who's been reading this and enjoying, and thanks for all the feedback and encouragement and lovely words. You guys are simply no less than amazing.
> 
> <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] No Exchanges or Refunds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4482242) by [Kess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kess/pseuds/Kess)




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